


DRAGOVAN: LEGACY

by Hyperionova



Series: DRAGOVAN [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Androgyny, Dragons, Fantasy, Goddesses, Gods, Hermaphrodites, M/M, Mpreg, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance, Royalty, Wyverns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 49,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25387969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperionova/pseuds/Hyperionova
Summary: The sequel to DRAGOVAN is finally here!!!After renouncing his godship, Adrian settles for a quiet life in a smaller fishermen village. He should have known that peace never lasts for great men like him. A threat, bigger than the plaguing Wyverns, come knocking on his door one day, and he finds himself pulled back into the chaos he had once relinquished.
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Original Character(s), Kim Jongin | Kai/Original Male Character(s)
Series: DRAGOVAN [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838659
Comments: 30
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

D R A G O V AN

L E G A C Y

H Y P E R I O N O V A

_This is a work of fiction and is an EXO fanfiction. The author does not own character(s) from EXO. Other names, places, characters, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any other resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. The work is ©2020 Hyperionova. The work contains graphic depictions of violence, hermaphroditism, and homoeroticism. It is intended for adult audiences only. All images used in the work and covers are free for commercial use (public domain images). This work may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed in whole or part without the express written permission._

# N O T E S

**Jorrdag** _1 st day of the week_

 **Livathdag** _2 nd day of the week_

 **Faandag** _3 rd day of the week_

 **Ikthadag** _4 th day of the week_

 **Merdag** _5 th day of the week_

 **Chaqdag** _6 th day of the week_

 **Kvadag** _7 th day of the week_

* * *

# B O O K O N E

* * *

# P R O L O G U E

**Auvradevas, Year 5154, 15 th Jorrdag**

“Seven have mercy,” said the old king to the greatly embellished walls of his chambers. He spoke to them often since the death of his queen. He had grown old and tired. He was mortal, after all.

Soon, his time would come, yet it could not come any sooner.

He gazed at the muraled ceiling of the room. “Would I see you again?” he asked the Goddess Zhesaris, with whom he had once lain. She did not reply. She never did. He doubted that she even heard him.

She never came to him in any form or manner since the night she had plucked a beautiful babe from her arms and handed him to the king.

He would see greatness, she had told Raagathor. Their son would bear many great titles, for that he would conquer, protect and avenge. He would be worshipped by all. He was the dragon slayer.

Sixteen years.

It had been sixteen years since Adrianus had died to shed the last of his mortality and had assumed godship. The people continued to worship him as Adrago, the God of the Seven Seas. His statue stood in the middle of the capital.

Adrianus Dragovan was not forgotten, however. He was remembered as the late Crown Prince of Auvradevas, who had conquered countless lands and won innumerable battles. His songs, though not as loud anymore, were sung.

There were also rumours. Nasty ones that called him a Kamthir _._ Raagathor chose to ignore those, but he would have overlooked it even if it had been true if he could just hold his precious son in his arms one more time before Zhesaris had taken him away for good.

Raagathor liked to think of himself as a very fortunate man indeed. He was the most celebrated king of a prosperous kingdom. He was blessed with many wonderful children and two nearly equally capable male heirs. His name was known all across the Nine Realms, and his conquests would be remembered for aeons to come. He had savoured a Goddess, held her an entire night in his arms. He had fathered a Godblood.

It was time. And it was drawing near.

His reign was rapidly nearing its end. Revolutions were brewing from the north, and something ominous was coming their way.

“Seven have mercy,” he muttered again, placing a hand on his chest, as though to feel his slowing heartbeat. It felt like a good time to pray.

Evzenius would make a fine king, even if he coveted neither the throne nor the responsibilities entailing it. He had good in his heart. More good than Raagathor ever had in his.

He began to close his eyes for some sleep when the rumbling flare-up blinded and deafened him for a length. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the alarm bells peal in a panic.

Fire. Attack.

Sitting up, he looked to the balcony, eyes widening at the splash of fire, whose heat quickly filled the chambers.

“By the Seven,” gasped Raagathor, scrambling out of the bed to grab his sword, which he could no longer wield.

“Do not bother, old man,” said an unfamiliar voice that stopped the old king in his tracks.

He turned to look at a man, who casually sauntered into the room through the open doors of the balcony. And was he a sight…

His skin looked as though it were set alight or rather like the dying embers of a firewood. His eyes were blazing red. Fire and smoke trailed behind him.

For a moment, Raagathor thought that he was dreaming something so horrid. His nightmares were often centred around fire-breathing creatures.

“What… What are you?” asked Raagathor. Before he could be answered, the guards barged in, brandishing their swords. They were set ablaze right before Raagathor’s eyes before they could take another step.

Horrified, Raagathor stumbled to a corner, panting hard through the palls of smoke. The stranger smirked, shaking his hand through which he had summoned a fire as hot as a Wyvern’s breath.

He wore nothing but a simple loincloth. His body was marked with ink, symbols that Raagathor did not recognize. He was at least half of Raagathor’s age.

“Where is your son?” asked the stranger, cutting straight to the point.

“Ev-Evzen?” said Raagathor. What sort of mischief had Evzenius gotten into now?

“Nay!” yapped the stranger, as though he were offended. He waved his hand toward the drapes and they turned to ash in the blink of an eye. “The Godblood.”

Raagathor froze. He could hear screaming in the palace and the city. “Adrian?”

“Yes,” spat the stranger. “Where is he?!”

Raagathor blinked. “He is dead,” said the old king, looking a little confused. “Everybody knows that he is dead.”

The stranger sneered then. “But he isn’t, is he?”

There is not much that Raagathor could do to respond. He gawked at the man of fire as the smoke filled his room.

“Certainly, _you_ must know where the sorry excuse for a Godblood is hiding,” said the stranger.

“He died and became a God,” said Raagathor, sounding less convincing than he should.

“Did he now?” scoffed the man. His veins were glowing red, and parts of his skin looked as grey as wood ash. The man was short and skinny. The lilt in his speech suggested that he might hail from the Eighth or Ninth Realm.

“Who are you?” asked Raagathor. There had not been a commotion this loud since the attack of the Wyverns.

“Tell me where you are hiding your firstborn!” demanded the stranger, burning everything in his path as he approached Raagathor.

“I do not know what you are talking about,” said Raagathor, falling to his knees.

The fire man scoffed and laughed. “I suppose we must do this the hard way.”

He stopped a couple of feet before Raagathor and lowered himself to a crouch, head tilted in amusement. Raagathor huffed heavily, wheezing for air.

“He is not among the Gods,” said the stranger. His breath was as hot as furnace. “He still walks the ground, and that is a hindrance for me.”

Raagathor found his voice again. “What are you… talking about? What is this bluster?! It was his destiny! He had fulfilled it! He died a mortal. He is now a God! You will not find him here.”

The stranger chuckled, shaking his head. He sported a braided beard, otherwise he had no hair on his bald head. “So, you really do not know of your wretched son’s whereabouts?”

Was it true? Was what this man of fire saying true? Nay, it could not be.

“Wh-Why… are you seeking him?”

The stranger snorted and rose back to his full height. “That is a useless information for a man who is about to die.”

Raagathor remained still, his lungs fighting for breath.

The tattooed man rolled his shoulders and grinned. “I’d wager he would come running out of his little rabbit hole if he heard of your death, wouldn’t he?” he said. “Even if he doesn’t, we’d certainly find him.”

He turned around and held a hand out to Raagathor. It was all that the old king saw before he was engulfed by flames.

* * *

# C H A P T E R O N E

**Vaelthe, Year 5154, 15 th Livathdag**

The deafening din of the tumult reached even the outlying corners of the district. It was not anything new, but it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore it any longer. A vast majority of the villagers hid themselves in their homes and barred their doors and windows. Mothers sang to their children to muffle the discord of the riot outside. Fathers sharpened their knives and sat by the door to protect their families, dreading the worst.

It started a moon ago. At first it began as loud rallies in the middle of the town by a band of rebels, who called themselves revolutionary reformists, inspired by the Red Knights in the Eighth Realm. Their rebellion quickly grew violent and their anarchy against the monarch became nothing more than a nuisance to the villagers. When they were asked to stop, they resorted to further violence. It was happening all over the Nine Realms. Anarchists were rising up against the reign of Raagathor and the Auvran law.

Some days were worse than others. The so-called reformists terrorized many of the villagers into joining their revolution. Those who refused were constantly tyrannized until they relented.

Vaelthe was beautiful and peaceful when they first moved here. It was a small village with small huts, cottages and shops, and it stood humbly right next to the sea in the Fourth Realm, which was conquered by Auvradevas a decade ago. The people were kind and polite to each other. Many of them were fishermen. It quickly became their home. And for many years, it stayed that way.

Three weeks had passed, and the commotions caused by the young anarchists only grew louder.

The unremitting glare of the midday sun had Jongin squinting his eyes as he strode through the small town, heading for the temple. He had even picked some flowers for the shrine. The temple was not as big or grand as the ones he used to visit in Warinia, but he was overjoyed when he first came here and discovered that Vaelthe was a pious enough village to harbour its own shrine to worship the Seven.

He was the only one in his family who still prayed to the Gods, however. No luck getting the others to beseech to the Seven. He had grown tired of trying to convince the rest to join him in his prayers. They never listened, they never believed, they had little faith in the divinities. Jongin gave up somewhere along the way and decided that he would just have to pray enough for all three of them. It was to be four soon.

The vendors had put away their small stalls. The general store was already closed. The blacksmith’s forge had to be open, Jongin reckoned. No one ever dared mess around over there.

He stopped in his tracks when he found the villagers gathered around the foot of the temple, which sat on top of a hill that could only be accessed by a long flight of stairs.

“The Seven!” he heard someone screech. It was one of the rebels. He was standing in the middle of the stairs, holding an uprooted crossbar in his hand, and at the end of it was the Auvran gonfalon, bearing the mighty lion crest of the magnificent empire. “They are our only Gods! These men have no right to take our homes, our women, our children!”

Jongin never quite understood on what grounds the rebellion operated. The Red Knights saw themselves as Gods’ messengers, who were sent to the ground to liberate the people from the clasps of their oppressors and the rule of men. Jongin highly doubted that it was their divine decree to free the people of the Nine Realms, only to have them follow and bow their heads to the Red Knights.

The Red Knights was nothing but a guild of young, overly enthusiastic anarchists, who thought their rebellion could end the Raagathor dynasty before the Auvran gonfalons could stand erect in every one of the Nine Realms.

Jongin looked past the young man holding the gonfalon on the stairs and spotted the heap of Auvran gonfalons and flags piled up on the floor before the temple’s entrance. The other rebels stood by it, as though to guard the pile.

“It is time that we stood up! We will bow to the reign of Raagathor no longer!” yelled the man. The villagers looked more concerned than impressed. They were a peace-loving folk, who were not comfortable with mutinies or loud assertions. Especially when such acts could result in capital punishments. They might not be fond of their current king, but they feared him enough.

“Papa?” Jongin heard a voice from the crowd, a voice that could wake him up even from the deepest of slumbers.

Had it been any other day, he might have turned around to look for Nacius in the crowd. It was never difficult to spot the boy in a crowd after all. He would stand out even among a cluster of stars. But today, Jongin did not want to look away from what was about to happen even for a fraction of a second.

Nacius jostled past the villagers, running a hand through his dark mane. “What are you doing here?” he asked, panting a little, his tunic soaked with sweat.

Though Jongin wondered what the boy had been up to in the town all morning, he did not ask. He had stopped questioning so much ever since Nacius had turned thirteen when the boy had thrown a fit over his parents being overly nosey and paranoid. He had angrily told Jongin to make another child just to take some of this pressure off his shoulders.

In just one more year, Nacius would turn seventeen and become a man. It caused Jongin some pain. On the one hand, he was so proud to watch Nacius grow up to be the exceptional young man he had always hoped the boy would be. But on the other, Jongin was losing his little Nacius, his baby.

He turned to look at the hollering man on the temple stairs and frowned. “I can’t believe they are doing this,” he said quietly.

Nacius’ brows furrowed, glancing to the rebels. “Let’s head back home, Pa. We have no business here.” He wrapped a hand around Jongin’s elbow.

Jongin did not move, though. He wanted to watch. He wanted to see just how far these rebels would go.

Or perhaps he just wanted to see those flags burn. He did not know if it would bring him any satisfaction, but those gonfalons now stood in every nook and cranny of Warinia, the home he was driven out of by the very Auvrans the rebels stood against.

“Papa,” Nacius groaned at his side. “Come on.”

Jongin stood still, as though he were rooted on spot. His son released his arm and turned to spectate whatever that was about to unravel before them.

“Let this day be remembered,” exclaimed the man on the stairs as he turned on his heel and climbed up to the entrance of the temple. A bead of sweat trickled down from Jongin’s temple. “Not another Auvran flag will fly in this district!”

The villagers murmured among themselves, dreading what would come next. The monarch would not just simply stand by idly while the kingdom’s crest was set on fire. It would retaliate, and when it did, the remaining peace of Vaelthe would be stamped out. And Jongin knew just what Raagathor was capable of. He would burn the entire village down until there was nothing but ash and rubble.

“They are going to burn it,” muttered Jongin almost dully.

Nacius pinned him with a grimace. “Why do you care? Let’s go, Papa. Before all this turns into a bloody brouhaha.”

They lived on the outskirts of the village near the beach. The commotions in the town rarely reached their home, but the smell of smoke and the cacophony of the riots often did.

If only Nacius knew just how much Jongin had to do with Auvrans and their gonfalons. But he did not. There was _so much_ that the boy did not know.

“Should we stop them?” someone whispered in the crowd behind Jongin. “We should, shouldn’t we?”

No one wanted to, however. Some of them believed that it was best to stay out of the rebellion’s way. Others waited for someone else to do something about it. Jongin simply wanted to watch.

He swallowed hard, his head spinning a little as the midday heat continued to nauseate him. His breathing quickened as the man reached the top of the stairs and held the gonfalon out with a sinister grin on his face. One of his comrades handed him a lighted torch.

“Vaelthe is now a free village again! We bow to the Auvran pigs no longer!” cried the man, and that was when an arrow plunged into his hand that was gripping the torch, pinning his hand to the torchwood, sending him staggering to the ground.

The shock startled everyone as the man screamed at the blood spurting from the back of his hand where the arrow was skewered.

“Maron!” one of the other rebels yelped, rushing to his side.

All the other heads turned, including Jongin’s, to look at the man standing tall in the midst of the crowd, who was lowering his bow. Jongin’s limbs numbed as his gaze fell on the ferocious gaze he had not seen in many, many years.

The fierceness, the ferocity, the feral anger in his amber eyes.

His shoulders were squared and broad. The veins on the sides of his bullneck were protruding. His hands, strong enough to break through a boulder, were fisted at his sides. His black hair, long and thick, were streaked with a few strands of grey, and so was his beard. His toned chest was heaving with rage.

Jongin had not seen him like that in a long time.

A villager gasped his name. Everyone in Vaelthe knew his name. Everyone knew what he was now. It was hard to not to notice a man like that and remember his name. Even the sea knew his name. But no one knew what he used to be and what he truly was.

His shirt, that was mostly unlaced, was covered in soot, and its sleeves were nearly tearing at his muscled arms. His skin was glistening with sweat.

He strode through the crowd, which quickly made way for him. He did not spare Jongin or Nacius a glance as he stomped past them. His entire concentration was on the rebels at the temple.

When he reached the stairs, he tossed the bow he was fiercely gripping to the ground before he started up the stairs, ascending three steps at a time.

It did not take him any more than a minute to reach the top. Jongin realized that it was the first time Adrian had ever climbed up the temple stairs in all the years they had lived there.

The man named Maron scrambled up to his feet with tears streaking down his cheeks. He faced Adrian, huffing and swearing. “How dare you?!” he yapped shakily. The fear was as clear as the day in his mien.

The other rebels stepped away, gawking at Adrian, who was striding towards Maron with his hands clenched tightly.

At Jongin’s side, Nacius was gawking, too. Mostly because his father was not the kind of man to get involved in anything confrontational. Especially a childish rebellion.

“Do you think you can stop us, old man?!” shouted Maron, gripping the torchwood which his hand was pinned to. He swung the torch, and Jongin lurched a step forward involuntarily when the lighted torch slammed onto Adrian’s bare chest with a thunderous thud.

Adrian stood his ground as though he were touched by nothing but the wind. His shirt caught some of the flames, which quickly died out. Maron’s jaw fell slack, and he staggered back.

Another rebel picked up one of the fallen gonfalons and charged at the man with the crossbar. Catching it in one hand, Adrian twisted the crossbar out of the rebel’s grip and raised the other to clutch at the rebel’s neck, shoving him back.

The rebels retreated then, deciding that a fight with this man without weapons would not play well in their favour. And Jongin knew that their odds would not look good even with the mightiest weapons at their disposal.

Snarling, Adrian swung the gonfalon around in his hand before driving its end into the stone floor of the temple’s doorstep. The sound of the steel breaking through the solid ground nearly deafened the villagers.

“Try touching it again,” he spat through his grit teeth, his eyes flaring at the group of rebels, his hand still gripping the crossbar.

When he pulled away and strode down the stairs of the temple again with his jaw clenched, the villagers stared at him breathlessly.

He stopped, however, when his gaze finally fell on Jongin and Nacius. His fierce expression immediately softened, meeting Jongin’s resentful one.

Without saying a word, Jongin turned around and hastily walked away. He heard his husband call after him a couple of times, but he did not feel like stopping to listen to the man. It was not like he could get all that far away from Adrian, anyway. He would end up going to the home he shared with the man.

* * *

Adrian did not follow him home. He must still have some work left to do at the blacksmith’s forge.

Nacius closed the door and quietly watched Jongin put away the basket of flowers with more aggression than necessary.

“Are you all right, Pa?” asked the boy.

Jongin did not answer. He looked for the honeypot to make some tea to calm his nerves.

“Did you see what Father just did?” asked Nacius.

“Yes,” Jongin answered curtly, his jaw set tight.

“That was spectacular!”

Jongin stopped to pin his son with a glower. “Nay, it wasn’t. Looking for unnecessary trouble with those puerile frondeurs is what that was. Don’t you dare try and emulate your father.”

Not that telling the boy that would help any. He was a chip off the old block, if the old block were Adrian. That was not to say the boy had not inherited many of Jongin’s traits, too. Both the good and the bad. Nacius was many things. And he had no idea.

“I am not trying to _emulate_ him,” said Nacius, his amber eyes squinting at Jongin. “Why did he interfere?”

There was genuine curiosity in the boy’s expression. Jongin turned to him with a panicked frown. “Darned if I know,” he said. “What have _you_ been up to? You left at dawn.”

Shrugging, the boy said, “I went to the beach.”

Jongin’s eyebrows furrowed even deeper. “Whatever for?”

“No reason.” Nacius sighed and proceeded to his room on the private loft up the ladderlike stairs, where he spent most of his time, when he was home at least.

It was a rather small cottage, though very homely and cosy. Jongin was very proud of it. It was adorned with flowerpots and green plants. Adrian thought them to be a nuisance, but he had stopped grousing about them some years ago.

While he waited for the water in the kettle to come to a boil, he plumped on one of the chairs and chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Why was he so disgruntled, anyway? Would he have stood by idly and watched if those rebels were burning the Warinian flag? It had been years, and Jongin liked to think of himself as a changed person. But the resentment and grievances he still harboured over the injustice meted out to his kingdom and his people by the Auvrans continued to gnaw at his heart for so many years.

He had stopped blaming Adrian for it all a long time ago. But perhaps he had not completely forgiven him.

Not even when he knew of all the greatness Adrian had sacrificed and given up for a mere mortal, someone as insignificant as Jongin. He had forsaken his sole calling for the love he had for the most adamant Warinian in all the Nine Realms.

And not once, in the past sixteen years, had Adrian’s love and affection wavered. He still loved Jongin madly. He would topple the world for Jongin.

It did not take too long for Jongin to remind himself of that and his chagrin was placated.

Exhaling heavily, he glanced to the bubbling kettle.

He wondered if the rebels would retaliate. So much for keeping a low profile.

Rubbing his temples, he brought a hand to his belly. This would be a terrible time to attract trouble.

“Nacius,” he called and received no response, as usual. “Would you like some tea?”

“Nay, thanks,” came the answer.

Jongin admitted it often. He missed the little boy who used to climb into his lap every chance he got.

They came to this village with a newly born baby in their arms. They were quickly welcomed with great hospitality and cordiality by the villagers. They did not ask whence the baby came from, although, sometime after, it became quite apparent to most what Jongin was – an Aevayl. No one ever made him feel queer for it. Not to his face, at least.

Adrian had had a hard time for the first few years admitting to anybody what he was, even to himself. He felt out of his element. He feared fatherhood, believing that he was not made for one. He feared raising a family with another man, though he might be an Aevayl.

They had gotten married in a small farmers’ village before a priest before they came to Vaelthe. Even then, Adrian had had his misgivings about wedding another man.

It was not until he had gotten used to the fact that men and women were allowed to take whomever they wished for a lover in this realm did he grow somewhat comfortable with the fact that he was an Alsiramene. Even then, he would never admit it out loud.

He was a wonderful father, despite his convictions and lack of faith. He would not put Nacius down even for a minute when he was first born. He protected his family as fiercely and ferociously as ever. Jongin was not sure how he could have done this without Adrian. Of course, he would have tried his best. If there was one thing that Jongin was known for, it would be for his perseverance. Adrian would argue it was _stubbornness_.

But even he had had his moment of weakness when nothing gave him hope. He had decided to end his suffering. He had given up. He had turned to death for mercy.

And if he had succeeded, he would not have gotten to live this blessed life with his perfect little family.

His little family was about to become a little bit bigger.

He had not told anyone yet, however. He wanted to wait for the right moment to tell Adrian and Nacius. He did not know how either of them would react to the news.

* * *

There was some quiet this evening. The rebels must have decided to call it a day. Or they were recuperating. Jongin had no reason to fear a gang of young fanatics when he had Adrian around. But there would be consequences to what had happened at the temple today.

Nacius came down to eat before he took off again. He did not say where he was going, but Jongin saw him heading towards the sea when he looked out the window.

He sat by the fire while he waited for Adrian to come home.

The door creaked open slowly a moment later, and Jongin turned his head halfway around to look at his husband, who ambled into the cottage, covered in so much soot and grease.

Jongin had encouraged the man to join the fishermen, but Adrian had opted for the forge, determined to stay away from the sea as much as he could.

Nacius, on the other hand, was fervently drawn to the ocean. And Jongin had a hard time forbidding him from going there even when Nacius was a child.

“What’s for dinner?” asked Adrian, removing his soot-washed coat. Jongin regarded him with a gaze of pity. Adrian came home every evening with new blisters and burns on his already callused hands. They healed rather quickly, but it did not make it any easier to look at them.

He rose from his seat on the floor and wandered over to Adrian. The man smelled of smoke, metal and sweat. But beneath it all, he still smelled like the ocean.

“Rye porridge with morels, yogurt and brined fish,” said Jongin. Adrian lowered his eyes, as though he were expecting to be yelled at.

Sighing, Jongin took the coat from the man’s hands and rose to the tip of his toes to brush a kiss against Adrian’s bearded cheek.

Adrian lifted his gaze and searched for Jongin’s. “Jongin,” he let out tiredly. He looked guilt stricken.

“Let’s eat,” said Jongin, deciding to yell at the man later when he no longer looked so piteous, like a kicked pup.

His shirt was ruined from the torch fire. Jongin did not berate him about it, even though it was unamendable.

Adrian sat down at the table, keeping his eyes on Jongin, as if he were waiting to be attacked.

Jongin stopped to fix the bigger man with a disapproving lour. “Hands,” he pointed out, raising his brows.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Adrian stood up again and hurried to lave his hands clean in the washbasin before he returned to the table.

Jongin plated their foods before he joined Adrian at his side.

“It looks delicious,” commented Adrian with a coy smile, which quickly faltered when Jongin did not return it. He quietly wolfed down the full plate placed before him.

Jongin scooped up a spoonful of the porridge and took a shy bite of the morel. He had omitted the brined fish for the reason that even the smell of it turned his stomach today.

“Will you bring me some candied orange peels from the confectionary tomorrow?” he asked Adrian, whose eyes widened.

“Of course,” he said. “Do you want anything else?”

Jongin shook his head.

When they were both done with their food, he picked up the plates and wandered over to the washbasin. A while later, he felt a pair of strong arms snake around his waist from behind.

“Jongin,” exhaled Adrian, his beard pricking the nape of Jongin’s neck.

Jongin stayed mum, trying to keep his attention on scrubbing the piled-up dishes in the washbasin.

“Must I apologize?” asked Adrian, making Jongin shudder as he brushed his lips against Jongin’s neck.

Sometimes, Jongin hated how small he was in Adrian’s arms. Usually, it was something he thoroughly enjoyed. But he was not particularly fond of how small he felt compared to the man when he wanted to pick a fight with him, even though Jongin was in no way a _small_ man.

With Nacius growing up so fast, he would soon outgrow Jongin as well. He mostly took after Adrian when it came to his physique.

“I apologize,” Adrian relented, tightening his arms around Jongin’s waist. “I know that… I should not have lost my temper.”

Jongin dropped the plate he was scrubbing back into the basin and drew a few deep breaths. There was so much at stake. There was no room for either of them to be reckless and make a mistake.

“You are an Auvran,” said Jongin in a low voice, even though Nacius was not around. “You will always be one.”

Adrian dropped his forehead onto Jongin’s shoulder. “And you do not like that about me.”

Jongin turned around and faced the man with a frown. “I just want things to stay the way they are. I’m afraid of…”

As he trailed off with a lump in his throat, hanging his head, Adrian took a very gentle hold of one of his hands and brought it up to press a kiss into the palm.

“Losing me?” said Adrian.

Jongin tried not to let the tears well up in his eyes. “I do not want to lose any of you,” he let out, raising his head as he cupped a side of his husband’s face.

Adrian smiled then. “I am yours. We are yours,” he promised. “You will never lose us. I will never leave. No one will ever take either of us from you.”

Jongin leaned in to rest his head on the Godblood’s chest. “I do not think I can live without you, Adrian,” he admitted, not for the first time. “And I most certainly would prefer death if anything were to happen to our Nacius.”

He had told Adrian of his dreams. Or rather nightmares, which were often haunted by Adrian’s mother.

For years, she came to Jongin in his dreams and warned him. Zhesaris told him that she would keep her promise, that she would take her grandson away when the time came.

Adrian had tried to reassure Jongin many times that she would have to pry Nacius away from his cold and dead body. Though he no longer spoke with her or saw her, Adrian was certain that she would not return. But if she did, he would go to battle with her for the sake of their son.

“ _I will not let anyone take your child from you_ ,” Adrian had said.

As much as Jongin wanted to take solace in those words, he was feared that a Godblood – one that had renounced godship by his own account – would be able to match the power of an obstinate Goddess, especially one who was also his mother.

In those wretched dreams, she often also told Jongin how much she resented him for having swayed her son away from his destiny, from all the fame and glory he was meant for.

Now, Adrian lived as a simple man, having left his days of glory as the heroic, nonpareil Crown Prince of Auvradevas, slayer of Wyverns, protector of the First Realm, son of Zhesaris behind. He had taken none of his glory with him when he chose Jongin and their unborn child.

The praises for Adrianus Dragovan’s conquests and victories were still sung all across the Nine Realms, though they had grown rather quiet in the more recent years. His name never even reached regions as far away as Vaelthe.

Just as how the people began to forget about the return of the Wyverns, they had stopped mourning the dead Crown Prince of Auvradevas. Some even thought that the man was entirely a legend, a myth, a fable, as were the Wyverns that were said to have attacked the First Realm sixteen years ago. Others forwent their admiration for the mortal Godblood and erected statues for the God Adrago, who had proved his worth and strength to the Seven. People believed that he would never return to the land of men as he now resided with the Seven.

“I had acted rashly,” said Adrian at length, lifting Jongin’s head up by the chin. He lightly ran his thumb along the skin beneath Jongin’s lower lip. “I am sorry. It was reckless of me to do that. I should not have meddled in those fools’ affair. It’s just that…”

He closed his eyes for a moment, sucking in a trembling breath. The anger that shot through his expression then was worrying.

Jongin splayed his hand on Adrian’s chest. “It is your kingdom,” he said. “You are an Auvran. I understand.”

Adrian frowned.

“I would have been mad too had they been disparaging my homeland,” said Jongin. Warinia was not even a kingdom of its own anymore. She was under the dominion of Auvradevas. She had lost all her freedom.

Jongin’s face turned sad when he remembered the news of his father’s death. It had happened some seven years ago. Jihee had fled Warinia, too. Jongin did not know where she was or how she was doing. He could only hope and pray that she was well. There was nothing left for Jongin in Warinia in any case, except his people, his land, which were still rightfully his to rule as he was the sole heir to the Warinian throne, if it were not for Raagathor’s reign.

It felt like another life, truly. Sometimes even he could not believe that he had ever been a prince. To a wondrous, peaceful, magical land. His heart would bleed to see the ruins in his once beautiful home.

He pulled away from Adrian and wiped his eyes. “Just promise me,” he said, turning away. “that you would not do anything like that again.”

“Jongin,” Adrian breathed out, taking hold of Jongin’s arm to turn him around. “I promise. I will stay out of their way. There is nothing more important to me than you and Nacius.”

That much Jongin knew was true. But just as how he continued to harbour some grievances, regardless of how much he loved Adrian and would lay down his life for the man he loved, he knew that Adrian had his own grievances to brood over. It was only fair. They had both given up so much to be with one another.

Though Jongin had never asked, he constantly wondered if Adrian regretted turning his back on his destiny.

Did he ever wish that things were different? That he had remained a God?

If he did, he never let it show.

“Speaking of Nacius,” said Adrian, his hand slipping down from Jongin’s elbow. “Where is he?”

“The beach, probably,” said Jongin as Adrian’s fingers curled around his. “He is always there.”

Adrian sighed. “Shall I go fetch him?”

“Nay,” replied Jongin. “He will come home soon, I’m sure.”

He lifted his hands to Adrian’s shirt and started tugging at its laces.

“It’s ruined,” exhaled Jongin.

“I’m sorry,” said Adrian once more.

Jongin looked up at him and shook his head lightly. “It’s all right,” he said. “There is no point in crying over it.”

Adrian caught Jongin’s wrist before the latter could pull away. “Nacius isn’t home,” he pointed out. His face looked a little grave and a little mischievous.

Jongin snorted. “Nay, thank you,” he said, withdrawing his hand. “You smell of smoke. You need a bath.” As he brushed past the man, he said, “And I am still sore from two nights ago.”

Adrian did not press him, and neither did he look all that disappointed, knowing pretty darn well that Jongin would relent to the man’s requests anyway later tonight. He worked on removing his shirt as he wended his way out to the outhouse for a bath.

Nacius returned home a while later, reeking of the ocean. Jongin could almost taste the saltwater in the air when the boy walked into the cottage.

“I am off to bed, Pa,” he said in a hurry as he clambered up the stairs to his loft. “Good night.”

Jongin barely managed to wish him back before the boy disappeared again.

* * *

He woke with a jolt that night, too. But it was not his own dreams that had awakened him.

He looked to his side where Adrian was panting, gasping in his sleep, his bare chest bathed in sweat, his eyes clenched tight, his hands balled around the covers. He was shivering and grunting. His jaw was as tight as his fists. There was pain twisting in his face.

“Adrian?” called Jongin, running his fingers through the Godblood’s hair that was damp with sweat. He frowned at the way Adrian was convulsing, the veins on his bullneck protruding like he was readying for battle.

Jongin tried to shake him awake, but he would not budge. What was he dreaming of that he was writhing like this?

Rising to his knees, Jongin straddled the man and grabbed hold of the sides of his head. “Adrian, wake up,” he hissed. “You are just dreaming. Wake up!”

He considered slapping the man awake for a beat. But then Adrian’s eyes flew open, and his hands rose to grip Jongin’s waist.

He gasped in a breath, eyes flaring red. “Jongin,” he grated with a choked cough.

Climbing off the man, Jongin knelt beside him, frowning worriedly. Adrian sat up and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“You were dreaming,” said Jongin. His heart was probably beating as fast as Adrian’s now. Putting a hand on the shuddering man’s shoulder, he regarded him with concern. “I will get you some water.”

He hurried into the kitchen to grab a cup of water from the water vessel before he returned to their room. Adrian had his head planted in his hands.

“Here,” said Jongin, dropping to his knees once more. “Drink this.”

Adrian took a couple of gulps before setting the cup aside.

Jongin let the man catch his breath for a moment. “Was it,” he asked at length. “your mother?”

She had not come to Adrian, not even in his dreams for many years. She had not forgiven him for forsaking his godship for a mere mortal, and knowing how fearsome and headstrong she was, she never would.

Adrian lifted his head and met Jongin’s worried gaze. He looked like he was in some sort of pain. Jongin touched his cheek. “Nay, it wasn’t,” said Adrian, still panting slightly, as he leaned into Jongin’s touch. “I dreamed of… Wyverns.”

Jongin did not know which was worse. In the end, he decided that both Zhesaris and the Wyverns had tried to take Adrian away from him, and thusly, he feared and resented them both almost equally. But he was a little glad that it had not been Zhesaris that Adrian had dreamed of.

He was taken aback when Adrian threw his arms around him all of a sudden and pulled him into a fierce embrace.

“Adrian,” gasped Jongin as the man pulled him into his lap.

“Just hold onto me for a moment,” muttered Adrian breathlessly, resting his head against Jongin’s shoulder.

Baffled, Jongin sighed and ran his hands down Adrian’s shoulder blades before gently stroking the Godblood’s hair.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” he asked softly, brushing his lips against a corner of Adrian’s temple. He was burning so hot that Jongin could barely take the heat of the man’s skin.

Pulling back a little, Adrian lifted his head to meet Jongin’s eyes. The moonlight that was pouring in through the window caught the grey strands in Adrian’s beard and hair. Jongin loved them more than he cared to admit. Adrian aged better than fine wine. Every grey hair, every faint wrinkle only added to his magnificence. No amount soot or grease or raggedy clothes or blisters could hide his transcendence. He stood out everywhere he went, which was probably why everyone made a point to know his name. Most men either envied him or tried to model themselves on him. Most women desired him and consequently envied Jongin, who was the only one Adrian ever had eyes for. Usually, he ignored the leering looks Adrian received in the village, but occasionally, he would be tempted to hurl sand in those women’s eyes, as evil as that might sound.

It was not until a few moons ago did he realize he felt a similar, if not stronger impulse to do the same to the people who had started to look at Nacius the same way. He should not feel so protective and possessive, but after having lost so much, he was determined to fight anyone who threatened to take what was his away.

And no one but him had a bigger claim on Adrian and their child. He had gone through hell and back to get them both. He had lost too much. He was not ready to lose anything again.

Adrian was not the only who protected this family ferociously.

“They were just,” began Adrian, his arms enveloping Jongin’s waist. “there. Nothing really happened, I think. But they had returned.”

Jongin could not hide the frown that crinkled his face. Adrian did not like to talk about it, but it was only understandable that he was subject to lasting shock when it came to Wyverns.

“If they returned,” he murmured, burying his face into the crook of Jongin’s neck. “what am I to do?”

“Nothing,” Jongin said, almost harshly. “You will do nothing, Adrian Dragovan.”

He cupped Adrian’s face in his hands and pressed a kiss to the man’s forehead that was wrinkled with worry.

“It is not your responsibility,” said Jongin. “And it is just a dream.”

He pressed another kiss to Adrian’s cheek, hoping that it would reassure or at least distract the Godblood from straying thoughts.

“How can it not be my responsibility?” said Adrian, slipping one hand into Jongin’s tunic. It was the only thing Jongin wore to bed, unlike Adrian who usually wore nothing.

Jongin kissed Adrian on the cheekbone once before brushing his lips against the corner of the Godblood’s mouth. “It does not matter,” he muttered, trembling a little when Adrian’s hot hand cupped a side of his ass under the tunic. “It was only a dream.”

Adrian exhaled heavily, dropping his forehead onto Jongin’s shoulder. “It had felt very real.”

Grabbing hold of the man’s chin in his hand, Jongin lifted his head to fix him with a frown. “But it wasn’t,” he said. “The Wyverns are not coming back. And you are not going anywhere.”

The Nine Realms had been saved more than enough by one Godblood. For all that it mattered, Adrian Dragovan was gone. No one was expecting him to come to their saving anytime soon.

A small smile of relief formed on Adrian’s lips. “I suppose I’m not,” he relented, his hand climbing up Jongin’s back inside his tunic.

“Not… what I had in mind,” Jongin breathed out. And before he knew it, Adrian plopped him down onto the mattress and mounted him. He neither protested nor fought. It was a welcome distraction for Adrian, and Jongin would do anything to hold onto him right now.

His tunic quickly came off, and Adrian drew the blanket over their tangling bodies.

“Don’t be rough. Go slow,” huffed Jongin, splaying his hands on his husband’s muscled back. He hissed when Adrian bit into his skin by the collarbones. He grabbed Adrian’s hair and tugged at it harshly until the man looked up. Scowling, Jongin told him, “I said, not so _rough_.”

Adrian arched an eyebrow at him confusedly, but he did not ask any questions as he determinedly carried on. Jongin’s fingers loosened around the Godblood’s hair, and he closed his eyes as Adrian slithered down on his tender body, leaving a trail of warm kisses behind, a hand reaching for the protective linen sheath on the nightstand, which he had forgotten all about last month when he had woken up in a mood to pin Jongin to the mattress.

* * *

The next morning was the quietest it had been in a while. Jongin stood in the kitchen, listening to the firewood beneath the hanging kettle cackle while staring out the kitchen window, vacantly watching the fat bumblebees flitting over the larkspurs and snapdragons in his garden.

He was startled when an arm loosely wrapped around his waist from behind before a set of familiar lips touched a side of his neck.

He tried not to flinch or blush when Adrian’s hand slid over his belly as the Godblood retrieved his arm.

Turning around, Jongin found Adrian’s rather gratified grin. He must have woken up to a much better mood than Jongin did.

“You look a little groggy,” said Adrian. “Is something wrong? Was I… too harsh last night?”

Jongin shook his head. “Nay,” he sighed. “It is nothing. Shall I fix you up some breakfast?”

“That’s all right,” said Adrian, already heading for the front door. “I ought to get to the forge. Gerald needs some help with the anvil shipment today.” He hurried back to Jongin momentarily after pulling on his coat and kissed him on the cheek. “I will bring back those candied orange peels for you.”

Jongin smiled and grabbed the Godblood by the lapels of his coat as he began to pull away. Yanking him forward, Jongin stole a quick kiss before letting him go.

“Oh and can you – ” he rasped just as Adrian slipped out the front door. He sighed and turned to the kettle.

“Good morning,” Nacius said chirpily when he sauntered into the kitchen. “Has Father left for work?”

Jongin turned around to face his son, who was practically glowing like he had found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. He had his hair nicely combed. He even wore some of his best clothes. His eyes, much like Adrian’s, were a radiant black, though they were more a honey yellow when seen in the sun. Jongin would never forget the first time he had seen those eyes when he met Adrian. It had not been a very cordial first meeting, but it was quite the spectacle, all right. Adrian was a spectacle.

Nacius was no different. He was very handsome, even at his age. All the childish plumpness and roundness were gone, replaced with lean muscles and sinews. He wore his hair slightly long now, but he always had it swept back. There was not a single lass in Vaelthe that did not already swoon over the boy. The very thought made Jongin equally proud and angry.

It was too much to ask one’s child to stay a child, wasn’t it? Jongin had a tough time letting go, but perhaps another child would take some of this expectation off of Nacius’ back. Jongin, however, doubted that the affection of one child could be replaced by another’s.

Nacius was as sweet as he had been when he was a child. He was helpful, respectful, and he never got into any trouble, knowing darn well that his parents, particularly Adrian, would punish him harshly if he ever did anything to harm another person.

Adrian never really punished him, though. Not that Nacius had ever done anything punishable. He had stolen a couple of sweets hidden away in the kitchen once or twice. He had broken Jongin’s favourite earthenware pot when he was eleven. He always snuck his vegetables, especially the green ones, onto Adrian’s plate, so that he would not have to eat them. They had let him get away with it all.

But he knew. He knew just how terrible Adrian’s temper might be when it really counted. And yesterday, he had witnessed it first-hand. 

Jongin could not have asked for a more perfect child. What was more was…

Nacius was part God and the heir to both Auvradevas and Warinia. The boy knew nothing of that. And he never would, if Jongin could help it. Like his father, he was meant for greatness. One day, perhaps the very greatness would take him far away from Jongin.

“Yes, he has,” said Jongin, watching his son float around the kitchen to grab a plump green fig. “Are you going to the town?” he asked carefully, trying not to sound obnoxiously prying.

“Yes,” his son answered easily, sinking a juicy bite into the fig. “Did you need something?”

“I do,” said Jongin. “A sack of potato flour, a bag of black lentils, a pack of sugar and some dried apricots.”

“I can get those,” said Nacius as he started for the door. He stopped and glanced back at Jongin. “Are you all right, Pa?”

Jongin blinked. “Yes, why?”

Nacius shrugged. “You just look a little… pink. Like you’re swollen.”

Jongin could not hide the blush that made his cheeks even pinker. “I am not _swollen_. Go along now. And be home for lunch by midday.”

* * *

# C H A P T E R T W O

There was no sign of the rebels today. After the misfortune that had befallen their pathetic little leader yesterday, Nacius was not expecting to see them menacing the streets anytime soon. Not without some serious reinforcements.

He ignored them, just as his parents had ordered him to. He did not need the unnecessary trouble, as much as he wanted to punch every last one of those noisy bastards’ teeth in. He might have, if it were not for all the distractions he had been bombarded with lately.

All the stores and stalls in the market were open today. He would get some skewered grilled fish on his way home, and perhaps a bag of seedless dates for his Papa. He figured he had enough coins for them all.

He decided that he would go to the general store first, and his heart instantly started pounding in his chest. He tried to calm it, so that he would not splutter and bumble and make a fool of himself. _Again_.

There were not many things that made Nacius nervous. When he was a toddler, he feared bugs. Nasty little things made him scream and cry and jump into his Father’s arms for protection. It was not until his Papa had convinced him that most of the bugs were harmless had he gotten over his fear of them. He had taken hold of Nacius’ little forefinger and brought it close to a ladybug that was sitting comfortably on a leaf. When his finger gently touched the black spotted red bug, he was pleasantly surprised that it had not hurt him.

A few years later, he feared some creatures called dragons for a while after listening to a horrid story the village Chief had narrated during the Summer Solstice Festival. His Father had promised him that it was just a story, and that there was no reason to fear those mythical fire-breathing creatures.

A couple of years ago, every time he walked to the beach, the sea made him nervous, though not in a way that made him want to run in the opposite direction. It was quite the contrary, actually. His heartbeat would go haywire, yet at the same time, he felt somehow safe when the seawater touched his feet.

A few moons after he had turned thirteen, he realized that the ginger-haired shop boy, who worked at the general store that was run by his father, made him incredibly nervous.

In the last several weeks, his dreams had been making him nervous. They started the night he saw the woman at the beach. She was there one moment – clad in a brilliant blue gown made of fish scales with strings of pearls hanging from her long, partially braided hair – and the next, she was gone.

He had thought that he was just seeing something that was not there. He had blamed it on the stolen mulled wine from the tavern. What his parents did not know could not hurt them, right? And there were many things that they did not know.

But then he saw her again in his sleep that night. She had not said anything then. She had just looked at him an almost chastising glower that had made Nacius wake up with shivers and sweat. He did not dream of her again until the next time he went to the beach.

She had said his name in the dream. It was the clearest and firmest anyone had ever said his name. Every time he went to the sea, he dreamed of her. Sometimes, Nacius asked her who she was. She would not answer. She would regard him, circle him, sometimes touch his hair or arm before she would disappear. It felt like a minute in his sleep, but hours would have passed in the real world.

As he strolled through the centre of the town, he glanced to the group of giggling girls, who were gathered at the stall that sold cheap cosmetics, like rose powders and tiny bottles red paint for their lips. They tossed him a coy look while whispering among themselves.

Nacius did not know if he were all that desirable, but he believer that desirable lads were in short supply in Vaelthe. Before one knew it, a lot of swooning harpies would swoop in to snatch whichever good man was in reach.

Unfortunately for those young lasses, Nacius was very far out of reach.

He winked at them, anyway and smirked when they gasped and chuckled, their already rosy cheeks turning even redder. He had learned it from his Father, who did the same thing every once in a while, when he came across some mooning women with tight bodices and very loose laces, much to his Papa’s resentment. Sometimes, Nacius thought that the man did it just to deliberately rile up his Papa for his own amusement. The latter would spend the rest of the day throwing things around in their home just to make noise followed by serious descriptions of all the myriad ways in which he was capable of hurting the other man. They always made up before going to bed, though.

The girls were not ugly, but none of them were particularly striking. Nacius was certain that many boys his age in Vaelthe would be more than happy to take any one of those girls for a wife. It was not as though they could do any better in this village.

Until Nacius had seen the woman at the beach and in his dreams, he did not know that women or anyone for that matter could look so… regal. He was almost convinced that if she were real at all, she could not be of this world. Or at least not of this fishermen village.

And he knew she was real because he was certainly not that creative or imaginable. He was not even as clever as his parents. His Papa, in particular, had a vast knowledge in so many fields, even though he rarely manifested it. Nacius had always known that his parents were not originally from Vaelthe and that they had only moved here after he was born. They told him that they were both from the Fourth Realm, but he often questioned their stories.

While his Papa was so well-read, pious and graceful, his Father was built like a stallion, and not even time could eradicate his impressive might and power. There was something about the man that made the villagers regard him with respect and reverence, even though he never demanded them.

Nacius would not be surprised if they both happened to be the most sophisticated and the oddest, most complicated people in this otherwise simple village inhabited by simple folk.

He might be theirs, but he had always felt out of place. Lately, the beach felt more like home than his actual home, and he knew that it dismayed and worried his parents. He never wanted to worry them, though. He loved them to the moon and back, and he would do anything for them. But recently, something had him feeling estranged.

It might have been due to the woman he saw in his dreams, whom he never told his parents about.

To come to think of it, he kept quite a few secrets from them. Nothing potentially fatal, of course. Or so he believed.

He undid the laces of his shirt sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows as he approached the general store. Most of his clothes no longer fitted him. He went through a shocking growth spurt as soon as he turned thirteen, and now, he was almost as tall his Papa and a lot stronger in terms of physical strength, though nowhere near as strong as his Father. He’d get there, he thought optimistically. After all, he had his Father’s hair, eyes, jawline, and big hands.

And apparently his self-restraint, too.

Yesterday, he saw a glimpse of what it would be like when that self-restraint was put to the test. The crossbar still stood upright, jammed into the floor of the temple’s entrance. No one dared remove it.

He had seen his Father lose his patience a few times before. One of which was when he was building the well in their backyard. Out of frustration, he had slammed the bricks against one another, turning them into crumbling fired clay with his bare hands. Another time, he had punched through the newel in the cottage that had made Nacius’ loft collapse onto the ground floor. It might have been during an argument, which his parents did not have many.

Nacius felt his own self-restraint and patience tested when he came across the other boys in the village. No one ever really wanted to be his friend. Ever since he was a child, Nacius had always been a lone wolf. He played on his own. He entertained himself. He climbed the coconut trees and swam in the ocean to pass time. The other boys and their parents believed that Nacius played too rough, even when he was trying not to. He just could not help his strength sometimes. Once, he had shoved a boy twice his age to the ground when he was only six just because the older boy had pulled his hair, which used to be quite long back then. His Papa sat him down that day and gave him a lengthy talk about how he should never lay his hands on others, especially those who were weaker than him, with the intention of hurting them. That was not bravery, in fact it was a disgrace to prey on those who were weaker.

He also taught Nacius to always be kind to animals of all sorts among many other things. He tried to stick to those lessons as much as he could. Nacius was not very good at learning literature, history or calculations, though – he tended to get side-tracked a lot. He had no interest in pottery or arts either, much to his Papa’s disappointment. But they liked baking together.

The closest thing he ever came to a friend was his Papa. Which was why he felt a little guilty for not having spent much time with him lately. He knew the man longed for it. Nacius tried his best, but there was just far too much on his plate right now.

A young woman, who was accompanying her mother, stopped in her tracks as she ambled out of the store to smile in Nacius’ way. He bowed his head, and though he was certain that he had seen her before, he had no clue when or where. No one in this village ever really was noteworthy to Nacius. All but one.

“Come along now, Alana,” her mother chided when she noticed Nacius looking at her flirting daughter.

Nacius drew a deep breath, taking a little comfort and confidence in the validation he had just received. He gave his hair a few strokes of his fingers before he entered the general store.

The store was full of people as usual. A plump, sweaty man with the reddest face Nacius had ever seen was in his way. He might be the Chief’s cousin.

“Ah, good morning, Nacius,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Good morning,” muttered Nacius just to be polite as he circled around the man.

Most people knew his name because they knew his Father. And his Papa was infamous for being ‘the Aevayl’ of the village. It was not something Nacius had quite understood, but he also avoided being reminded of it as much as he could. It was all very confusing to him, and he knew that his Papa was not entirely comfortable discussing it either. He had known since he was a child that his Papa was a hermaphrodite, who was mostly a man, but there were those who were mostly women too with certain features of a male. They all identified as Aevayls, and the Aevayls were as rare as blood gems. Nacius had not asked for any more details. All that he had understood was that there was a lot in this world that he had yet to comprehend.

“Send a good word to your father, will you?” said the man as Nacius tore away from him, nodding his head anxiously.

He perked his head up to take a look past all the heads standing between him and the counter, which was no trouble. He was taller than most people in Vaelthe, including the grownups, after all. The majority of the villagers were sunburned for most of the year and were generally short, which made Nacius and his family stick out like sore thumbs in a crowd of any size. He would not be surprised if his Father were to be the biggest, tallest man in the entire district.

He swallowed a lump in his throat when he spotted a familiar redhead pop out from behind the counter. He quietly moved to stand in the line.

This was one of the many secrets he had been keeping from his parents lately. He doubted that they would be mad about it, but there was not much to tell, anyway.

Nacius was very noticeable indeed. To _most_ people.

He never missed a chance to come to the general store. But he had a good reason to come here today. It was a special day.

The line suddenly seemed too short. His heart was already doing embarrassing things in his chest.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he slowly reached the front of the line. Though he stood a whole head taller than the shop boy, he cowered like a child before the other boy and his scintillating hazel eyes that were speckled with green and gold. When he was not dreaming of the woman in the fish scales, he was haunted by those very eyes, which often kept him up at night. Since he was thirteen.

“ _Atrocious rumours_ ,” he heard the man behind him hiss quietly to his friend.

“But what if it is true?” said his friend, sounding like he was choking on a sob.

“Nay, it isn’t.”

“But the traveller from the north said –”

“Never mind what a drunk old rover on the road says! Half of them are mad! Gossipmongers.”

When Nacius was finally at the counter, he stared at the back of the shop boy’s ginger head with his heart in his mouth. The shop boy eventually turned away from the shelves and walked over to the counter.

He stopped to regard Nacius with that same indifferent and aloof look he gave all of his customers. Nacius stared a little too long at the beautiful freckles that were dusted over the shop boy’s nose and cheeks. He always stared at them a little too long. Which might be why the shop boy often pinned him with a grimace.

He probably thought Nacius to be odd and obnoxious, like every other boy their age did in the village.

“May I help you?” he asked, his orange eyebrows drawing close together.

“Uh, y-yes,” stuttered Nacius. He cleared his throat and looked to the protrusion in the other boy’s neck. Like his own, it was thick and prominent, and it bobbed every time the boy swallowed. It was a whole scene. And it made Nacius very nervous.

Aric. His name was Aric Thayne.

Something twisted painfully inside Nacius every time he thought of the name. He never dared say it out loud, though.

The shop boy glanced over Nacius’ shoulder and frowned at the long line behind him. “Is there something that you want?” he asked almost impatiently. He probably knew Nacius’ name, but he acted like he had never seen Nacius before every time they met. Or perhaps he really did not care.

Nacius hated that he was such a klutz around the boy. “Yes, I do!” he yelped like a hurt dog. He paused and scratched the back of his head. “Uh… Potato flour, sugar, apricots – the dried kind – and um, black lentils.”

Nodding his head curtly, Aric turned on his heel and headed into the storage room before returning with all the items Nacius had ordered.

It was difficult not to look at the way the shop boy’s tunic sleeves stretched around his arms as he slightly struggled to carry the hefty sack of potato flour.

Yet, Nacius was the one who was sweating.

_Come on, just say it!_

“That would be seven coins,” huffed the shop boy.

“Ah, yes.” Nacius quickly retrieved what he thought to be seven coins from his trousers’ pocket and dropped some onto the ground. He thought Aric was rolling his eyes, but he probably was not. He might have after Nacius left the store like a fumbling idiot every time, though.

Picking up the coins from the ground, he placed them on the counter.

“That’s nine,” said Aric, sliding two coins towards Nacius with an arched eyebrow.

It was not the first time Nacius had made the mistake, though. He was not sure that it was all because he was so terrible at calculations, even the simple ones. He grabbed the remainder and pocketed them.

He tried smiling at the shop boy as he gathered the things, but he must have done something mortifying because Aric was grimacing grimly at him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Sure you can carry them all on your own?” asked the shop boy.

Nacius had not even thought about it. The sack of flour was already sitting on his shoulder comfortably, and it did not feel like it weighed more than someone’s hand.

“I think I’m good,” said Nacius, collecting the other bags in one arm like they weighed no more than sticks and marbles.

Aric shrugged. “If you say so. Who’s next?”

Nacius stepped aside to let the next customer come forth. As he reluctantly made his way to the door, he glanced back at the shop boy. He sighed heavily, taking a good look at Aric’s silky red hair that often fell over his eyes. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue, and yet, he could not say them.

Even when he was only thirteen, Aric had been the most beautiful boy in Vaelthe. It was then when he began to help out his father at the store. And the older he got, the handsomer he became, much to Nacius’ distress. His boyish charm was a little too hard to ignore.

Nacius would do anything to be his friend – just how awesome would that be?! But Aric was the only other boy in Vaelthe who was as desirable as Nacius apparently was – the women swooned over him just as much – and that was probably why Aric, like many other boys, hated him and wanted nothing to do with him. Or it was simply because he thought Nacius to be peculiar and had nothing to do with him being a competition.

Besides, Aric already had a fiancée. He would marry her when he turned seventeen next year. Nacius did not know much about her, and he felt bad for poking around for information on Aric’s private life. But from what he had seen of his betrothed, she was quite easy on the eyes. Nothing extraordinary. She looked better when she had that red paint stuff on her thin lips. She often hung around the store, almost silently begging for Aric’s attention – not that Nacius could blame her, he did the exact same thing.

“Oh, darling,” a woman rasped just as Nacius stepped out of the store. It was the store owner’s wife. She had Aric’s bright ginger hair and brown-green-gold eyes. “Do you need help with those?”

“Nay, thank you, Olivia,” he said. She was a nice lady. She always smelled of rosehip oil, and she was always friendly to everyone. Aric clearly did not inherit those traits. “I’ve got it.”

“Send my regards to your parents,” she said.

“Will do. Beautiful as ever, Olivia.” He smirked and even waved at her with two fingers. She chuckled before she disappeared into the store.

See, Nacius had his own charm, which most people admired. It just never helped him any when he was around Aric.

It was a cruel joke. A curse.

“Nacius, honey,” Olivia called after him. Nacius stopped to look back at her. “It is my son’s birthday today. He turns sixteen. We are celebrating him at the _Ye Olde Eatery_ later this evening.”

Nacius bit his lower lip. He knew that. It was the reason why he had primped himself up neatly today and was eager to come to the general store. He had tried to muster the courage to wish the shop boy a happy birthday, but he had chickened out as he always did.

“Oh, yeah?” he said awkwardly. “That’s great.”

“Well,” said Olivia. “I was wondering if you would like to come.”

Nacius nearly dropped everything he was holding. He gaped at the woman, who did not look a day old past thirty. No one had ever invited him to a celebration. Well, there were the annual festivities that everyone in Vaelthe was invited to. But Nacius was not specifically invited to celebrate anyone.

He licked his lips. “I don’t think your son would like that very much, Olivia,” he said.

“Don’t be silly,” she said, laughing. “It is quite a big celebration. All the boys are invited. You should come, too.”

Nacius exhaled heavily and tried to look cool, although he was shaking in his clothes.

“I shall try,” he said in the end. Olivia smiled once before she left him be.

* * *

As soon as he reached home, just in time for lunch, he dropped the bags and sacks onto the dining table and hurried into the kitchen. When he did not find his Papa there, he looked for the man in the garden.

He found him sitting on the wooden bench he had helped his Father built, lost in his own thoughts while he watched the clouds shrouding the midday sun. He had his legs drawn up, arms hugging them to his chest. One of his hands was aimlessly fiddling with the silver anklet he wore around his shin. He had worn it for as long as Nacius could remember.

“Papa,” he called.

“Oh, you’re home,” the man said with a smile. Nacius took a seat beside him and handed out the small bag of dates he had gotten. “Dates!”

Nacius watched him grab a date from the bag and take a bite.

“So sweet,” his Papa let out with a pleased grin. “Thank you.” He stroked Nacius’ hair at the back of his head and pressed a quick kiss to his temple. “Did you get everything I asked you for?”

“Yes,” said Nacius. “Papa… There is something I wanted to ask you.”

The man blinked. “What is it?”

“I ran into Mrs. Thayne,” he said. “And she invited me to a celebration at the eatery tonight. It is her son’s sixteenth birthday.”

“Little Aric?” said his Papa.

He was not so little anymore, but Nacius figured his parents knew Aric from a baby and probably still saw him as a child, as they did with their own.

“I did not know you two were friends,” he said.

“We’re not,” muttered Nacius, looking away, hanging his head. “But everyone’s going.”

“And you want to, too?”

Nacius gnawed at his lower lip for a moment before nodding his head. “I think so. Can I?”

The other man stared at him with wide eyes. “Are you… asking for my permission?”

“Yes?”

* * *

Jongin nearly laughed. “You haven’t asked for my permission to do anything in a while,” he said. He must have sounded condescending because his son started to frown.

Sighing, he draped an arm over the boy’s shoulders and pulled him close.

“Of course, you can,” he said. “Do not drink anything heavier than ginger ale. And no more than one pint.”

Nacius grinned and threw his arms around Jongin before he almost immediately shot up to his feet, leaving the bag of dates in Jongin’s lap.

“I must find something decent to wear!”

“Nacius,” Jongin called before the boy could hurtle back into the cottage. “Be home before midnight.”

“I will, Pa. Thank you!”

When he was left alone again, Jongin took another small bite of the date. Perhaps he would tell Adrian the news tonight when they would be alone. That way, if it turned into an argument, Nacius could be kept out of it.

He could not think of why he feared that Adrian might not react favourably to the news. Perhaps it was because they were both getting old and having another child right now would only complicate everything.

Still, Jongin was determined, whether or not his husband wanted it.

Then there was Nacius. How would he take the news? Did he want the never-ending responsibility of an older brother? He was the one who would be here, even long after Jongin and Adrian were gone.

However they were going to react, Jongin had to tell Adrian tonight.

* * *

The eatery was thronging with people by the time Nacius arrived at it. The sun was rapidly setting in the horizon. Aric had many relatives and friends. More than Nacius had realized.

As he made his way through the eatery, his eyes searched the imbibing and singing crowd for a familiar redhead.

“That’s Adrian’s kid,” he heard someone say around him.

“Get him a pint,” another said.

Every table in the eatery was occupied by at least five people. Men and women both were drinking to Aric’s health. They might be his uncles and aunts.

Nacius jumped a little when someone put a spilling tankard in his hand. “Drink up!” the eaterykeeper said before he hurried away to serve others.

Nacius gave the dark mead in the tankard a sniff before taking a sip. It was not the first time he had consumed the alcohol. In fact, he had tasted far stronger drinks than dark mead.

When he was fourteen, his Father gave him his first taste of ale. Nacius had winced and carried on like he had an arrow in his leg.

But as he grew older, alcohol had very little effect on him. No amount of mead or ale could get him as sloshed as the other men. His Father rarely drank, too. They were all the same to Nacius. Just bitter liquid that made his head buzz for a little while.

He hoped he looked all right. He had taken a bath. Not that it mattered much in here. Everyone around him reeked so strongly of mead and roasted pheasant.

“Toast!” someone shouted in the crowd. “Let us hear a toast!”

Nacius stopped where he was standing, looking to his right where everyone was looking.

His heart skipped a beat, like it always did, when he spotted Aric, standing by the keeper’s counter, an elbow resting on the countertop, while nursing a tankard in his hand. He wore an easy smirk that made Nacius almost… _angry._

Did he have to look so effortlessly beautiful? It did not make anything easier.

He was standing with six other boys – his friends. Not only was he the tallest among them, but he was also easily the best looking.

Nacius took another sip of the drink, looking to Aric’s father, who rose from his seat with his drink in hand.

“Today,” the man said, loud and clear for all to hear. “my son turns sixteen. That is an important age. A year from now, he would become a man. He would look after my shop, and he would marry the beautiful Gretchen, who has been like a daughter to me for many years now.”

Nacius glanced to Aric just in time to catch the disinterested look on the boy’s face. He lowered his head and stared into his tankard for a moment before he looked up at his friends, who started nudging at his sides with their elbows, teasing him about his fiancée. He managed a small smile before he grabbed one of their heads and shoved it away from him.

“Tonight, we drink to his health,” said his father lastly before raising his tankard.

“Here, here!” a few people cheered, clanking their tankards together.

Nacius drew a deep breath and forced his feet to move. He gripped the tankard tightly as he approached Aric.

“My father said so,” he heard one of Aric’s friends say. “He had heard it from a sea trader earlier today.”

“That cannot be true,” Aric muttered back with a grievous look on his face, which turned even more grim when he saw Nacius walking towards him.

The other boys sneered and grimaced, too.

“Hey,” Nacius said, trying to keep his voice from quavering. Aric kept mum, eyes boring into Nacius. He had to look up to meet Nacius’ gaze, and Nacius liked that.

“What is he doing here?” another one of his friends, the one with the crooked teeth, Rory, asked Aric, as though Nacius could not hear him. “Did your mother invite him, too?”

Nacius cleared his throat, ignoring the other boy. “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” he said. “That’s all.”

Aric’s expression softened a little. “Thank you,” he said monotonously.

Nacius nodded his head and turned around to walk away as dignifiedly as he could.

“It’s the _Kamthir’s_ son,” spat Rory, knowing very well that Nacius heard him. “And the he-she freak.”

“ _Rory_ ,” Aric groaned before he swilled his drink.

“What? You don’t think he’s a freak of nature? That thing should not be born into this world. Even my mother says it is the most unnatural thing ever. That he is cursed. An Aevayl birthing a child? I could not think of anything more horrid! It makes me shiver every time I think of the fact that an abomination like him walks the ground.”

Nacius stopped dead in his tracks, his fingers denting the tankard in a vicious grip.

Tossing the tankard away, he turned around again. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice dropping to a menace.

Rory straightened up, and so did Aric and the other boys. They were now gawking at Nacius’ eyes.

“Say it to my face,” he said, and it was a threat, not a challenge.

Rory swallowed, rooted to the ground.

When Nacius lurched forward, Aric stepped in between them and raised a hand to Nacius’ chest to stop him. The touch shocked Nacius to a stop.

“Hey,” rasped Aric. “He’s just drunk, okay?”

“And an idiot,” Nacius spat through his clenched teeth, glowering at Rory, who was starting to shake in his boots.

Aric glanced over his shoulder and scowled at Rory. “I think you should go home, Rory.”

Rory nodded his head shakily before he ran away.

Nacius pulled away from Aric before the latter could withdraw his hand from Nacius’ chest. It was very warm where he had been touching, and if Nacius had not been fuming with anger, he might have swooned.

If he wanted to crush Rory’s stupid head, he would have. Not even a boulder to his chest would have stopped him.

But it was the first time Aric had ever touched him. Well, their fingers had brushed exactly twenty-two times before when Aric was handing Nacius the items he had purchased at the store.

But this was the first touch that had been deliberate.

And it had sent jolts down Nacius’ body.

“Do you want to take a walk?” Aric asked with a sigh.

Nacius blinked at him vacantly for a moment. “Wh-What?”

“I need some air. And maybe you do, too.”

He did not wait for Nacius as he brushed past him.

Nacius warily followed him. He needed his hands to stop trembling, but they did not. So, he quickly stuffed them into the pockets of his pants as he followed Aric out of the eatery.

* * *

Jongin was pacing a hole into the floor of the living room while he waited for Adrian to return home.

Nacius had just taken off with a glow in his face that Jongin rarely saw these days. He was happy to see his son so excited, anyway.

Left to his lonesome, he was running several scenarios in his head, preparing himself for all the possible responses Adrian could have to the news.

When his head began to spin a little with dizziness, he sat down on one of the comfier wooden chairs in the room by the fireplace.

A while later, the front door opened.

Jongin shot up from his seat and turned to meet his husband’s gloomy expression.

“Adrian?” he called, crossing the room. “Are you all right?”

Removing his coat, Adrian faced Jongin with a frown. He then proceeded to take a seat at the dining table. He seemed to be preoccupied for a moment with his own thoughts. Then he looked up at Jongin again with a pair of furrowed brows.

“There has been an odd hearsay floating about the village,” he said.

Intrigued, Jongin sat down, too. “About what?”

Adrian took a moment to respond. The distress was so prominently visible in his eyes. “About… the king. And a fire at the palace.”

Jongin stayed mum, waiting for Adrian to continue.

Adrian looked like he had something stuck in his throat. “Some travellers brought word that… the King of Auvradevas had… perished in the palace fire.”

Jongin did not realize that the muscles in his face were clenched until they loosened in shock. He reached out and took hold of Adrian’s hand that was resting on the table.

“Do you think it could be true?” he asked.

Adrian sighed heavily and closed his eyes, his fingers closing around Jongin’s, as though for support. “I do not know for certain,” he said. “But if it is…”

Jongin was at a loss for words. He remembered how Adrian had been there for him, cradling Jongin in his arms day and night when he received the news of his own father’s death some years ago. Adrian had done everything in his power to ease Jongin’s grief. He gave Jongin the time he needed to heal. He gave Jongin the silence he required to honour the memories of his late father. He gave Jongin all the comfort he needed for the pain to recede.

“It probably isn’t,” Jongin tried saying, hoping to alleviate some of Adrian’s distress, but it sounded so unconvincing even to his own conscience.

Adrian brought his free hand to his face, elbow planted on the tabletop. “What if it is?” he muttered.

Jongin lifted the man’s hand and brushed his lips against the coarse skin of its knuckles. “Adrian…”

“I know that he had his faults, Jongin,” he let out, meeting Jongin’s eyes again. “He did many things that the man I have become would stand against. I know that he is the reason… you lost your home, your family, your people. Everything. But…”

“He was still your father,” Jongin finished for him. “You did everything to make him proud. And he _was_ proud of you, Adrian. He could not have asked for a better son. And if he saw you now, I’m sure he would be just as proud.”

Adrian scoffed despite himself. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Jongin frowned. “You are a man just as good now as you were before. Perhaps even better.”

“I’d bet my father, the Seven and all of the Nine Realms would disagree.”

Jongin’s frown deepened into something like a scowl now. “Then they are wrong.”

“I ran away, Jongin,” said Adrian. “I ran from everything he had wanted for me. I ran away from responsibility. I ran away from… everything.”

Adrian withdrew his hand from Jongin’s and raised it to a side of Jongin’s face.

“But it had been an easy choice in the end,” he said. “I’d have chosen you over anything. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Jongin’s cheek grew very warm against Adrian’s palm. “He does not know you are alive, Adrian,” he said, hand clinging to Adrian’s wrist. “It does not matter now. Even if it is true, your brother would make a fine replacement.”

“I do not doubt that Evzen would make a great king,” said Adrian. “I just wish… I could have met my father one last time.”

Although Jongin and most of the Nine Realms loathed Raagathor, it was as clear as day that Adrian generally had a good relationship with his father, who revered his eldest born, celebrated him monumentally. After all, he had had the honour of fathering a Godblood.

“I can feel it,” said Adrian. “Somehow… I can feel that he is… gone.”

“Adrian,” exhaled Jongin, rising from his chair to sit on Adrian’s lap. “I am so sorry.”

Sighing, the Godblood nuzzled against the side of Jongin’s neck, resting his head on Jongin’s shoulder. “I also feel like there is a chaos coming our way,” he whispered, arms wrapping around Jongin almost protectively. “I forgot the candied orange peels.”

Jongin pressed a kiss to Adrian’s temple. “It’s all right.”

* * *

Aric smelled like ale, too. But the smell promptly disappeared as the cool, night air enveloped them.

The streets were quiet, empty. As they strolled away, the racket of the eatery began to fade into the background.

Nacius eventually caught up to Aric and fell to a slow walk at his side. He watched the shop boy rub his temples before he glanced in Nacius’ way. His hair and freckles were a different shade under the moonlight.

“I’m… sorry about that,” he said.

Nacius dropped his gaze. Aric wore nicer boots than he did, he realized.

“He has a foul mouth on him,” added Aric. “Probably got it from his mother.”

Nacius scoffed. “And the teeth, too?”

Aric smirked then, and it was the first he had ever smiled _at_ Nacius. More like half a smile, but still. “Nay, he got those from his grandmother.”

Nacius could not help but smile like a lovesick fool. He lowered his head again, so that Aric would not catch him beaming like that.

This night was taking a rather unexpected turn.

“Nacius,” said Nacius at length.

Aric came to an abrupt stop and cocked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“M-My name,” stammered Nacius. “My name is Nacius.”

Aric blinked. “Yeah, I know,” he said.

It took Nacius aback. “You… do?”

Scoffing, Aric started walking again. “Everyone knows your name.”

It brought a deep blush to Nacius’ cheeks. He was so damn grateful for the night and his dark skin, which hid the embarrassing flush that made his face hot.

They were walking towards the beach.

“Because I am such an abomination?” asked Nacius.

Aric did not look at him as he said, “I told you, he was just drunk.”

Nacius scoffed. “I know that is what everyone thinks. Good manners always trump condescending judgments with you people.”

“You speak as though you are not one of us.”

Their eyes met briefly then.

Aric sighed. “Anyway,” he said. “It isn’t because of that. It is because of your father. The people are very interested in him. Now more than ever, after that stunt he had pulled yesterday.”

Nacius instantly caught the bitter edge to the boy’s tone. “You disapprove.” It had sounded more like an observation than a question.

Aric chose his next words with some caution. “It was just surprising,” he said. “I did not peg your father for confrontational person.”

“He usually isn’t,” muttered Nacius, almost a little embarrassed.

“I had never seen anything quite like it,” admitted Aric.

“Do you not think those rebels deserved it?”

That halted Aric once more. He fixed Nacius with a critical look. “Why? Because they speak the truth? Because they fight for what is right?”

Nacius was dumbfounded for a moment. “What is right?”

Aric started walking again. “The people may hate those _rebels_ because they disturb the village’s silence. They may be silent themselves fearing for their lives, their fragile little peaceful lives. But the truth is, everyone sees King Raagathor for what he is. A greedy tyrant, who takes whatever that he likes, not caring about who he tramples on his warpath.”

Nacius never knew Aric would be so… political. He himself did not think much of it. Vaelthe was so far away from all the political hubbub that it did not matter what one’s views were. Besides, his parents never discussed the matters of the sovereign.

There was not much that Nacius knew on this issue.

“So, you oppose the current reign?” he asked.

Aric snorted. “I am,” he said decidedly. “I am not one of those rebels, but I am most certainly not against their mission. ”

He must not be all that fond of Nacius’ father, who had interfered with the revolutionaries’ mission, then.

“They are rather brave, don’t you think?” said Aric.

“If you stand for their cause,” said Nacius. “why don’t you join them?”

“I am not that brave,” said Aric with a breathy chuckle that made Nacius’ heart swell. He watched the shop boy jump onto a ledge and trot on it with his arms outstretched for balance.

Nacius was tempted to do the same. It looked fun.

“Are _you_ brave?” asked Aric, wobbling on the narrow ledge, tilting from right to left.

“What?”

“Are you brave? Like your father?”

“You think my father is brave?” asked Nacius. “I thought you said the rebels are brave.”

“And it takes an even braver person to stand up to someone who is already that brave.”

Nacius frowned. “You are really sending out some mixed signals over here.”

Aric laughed, much to Nacius’ surprise. And the laughter made him lose his balance on the ledge.

Nacius reached out and caught the boy’s arms before he could fall face-forward on the ground.

They stilled for a moment with Aric looking up at Nacius. He was tipsier than he was willing to admit, clearly. His skin was warm to Nacius’ touch, even under the flimsy fabric of his tunic sleeves.

He eventually retrieved his arms from Nacius’ loose grip and cleared his throat. “My point is,” he said as he pressed on. “I don’t think your father is a coward. In fact, no one thinks that. I just do not agree with the Auvrans and their ways and their king. Thus, I support anyone who dares to stand against them.”

Nacius quietly followed the shop boy until they reached the beach. He waited while Aric heavily plumped onto the sand and loosely wrapped his arms around his knees while the gentle breeze tousled his hair.

Nacius settled beside him, maintaining a safe distance. This was not at all how he had imagined the night would go. Not that he was complaining. He just wished that his heart would stop beating so fast.

“You are all right, Nacius,” said Aric as he stared out at the frothing waves. “I think you are a little clumsy, but all right.”

Nacius swallowed hard, averting his gaze from the boy before he got caught staring. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

Aric scoffed. “You are hard not to notice. Ships at sea would not miss you.”

Any hotter, Nacius’ face might have gone up in flames.

They sat there quietly, listening to the sound of the tide and the breeze of the ocean.

“You smell like it,” said Aric at length.

“What?”

The redhead turned and faced Nacius with a languid gaze. “The ocean,” he said. “You always smell like it.”

Nacius’ eyes widened. “I… do?”

“Spend a lot of time down here?”

Nacius sighed and bowed his head. “Yes,” he admitted, though he doubted that was the reason why he smelled like the ocean. “It’s so peaceful out here.”

“It sure is.” Aric leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs out. “I am not overly fond of it, though.”

“The sea?”

“Nay, this village, this life.” He exhaled heavily. “If I could get away from it, I would not spare any of it another glance.”

This night was truly full of surprises. Perhaps this was just another one of Nacius’ eerily vivid dreams.

“So, then why do you stay?” he asked.

The way Aric had looked at him in that moment made Nacius blood drum in his ears. It was a soft gaze, considerate. “I can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“You heard my dad. He needs me to look after his shop.”

“And marry the beautiful Gretchen,” said Nacius, hoping to sound mocking. He wanted to kick himself for letting his voice tremble. He smirked, as though to mask his displease.

Aric sat upright again and gawped at Nacius for a moment too long. “You have the most peculiar eyes I have ever seen,” he remarked, his whispery voice nearly muffled by the cacophony of the waves. “I can never tell if they are… black or brown or yellow. Maybe orange. A little bronzy. Your father has similar ones, doesn’t he?”

Nacius lowered his eyes. He could not believe that Aric had noticed his eyes.

They fell silent once again.

After some while, Nacius glanced over to the shop boy, just to make sure for the nth time that he was not dreaming.

Aric was still there, gazing at the sea with his chin slightly lifted, as though he were giving the wind access to stroke his hair.

“You were right,” Aric let out, carding his fingers through his mussed hair. Nacius was tempted to run his own fingers through it. “This _is_ peaceful.”

His mouth turned rather dry. “Should you not be getting back to your celebration?”

Aric heaved a sigh. “I should,” he murmured and stood up. He dusted the sand from his trousers and looked down at Nacius once more before he walked away. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

Nacius kept his head low.

“And _I_ do not think you are an abomination, by the way.” With that, Aric left Nacius alone with the ocean.

Long after he was gone, Nacius buried his face in his palms and sucked in a few shaky breaths. “What am I doing,” he muttered to himself angrily. “Making a fool of myself, that’s what.”

Bringing his head up again, he planted his chin between his knees. Like Aric, Nacius wanted to get away from here, too. He felt like a fish out of water.

But tonight had not been a complete disaster or uneventful. It was a night that Nacius would remember for years to come. It might be the first and last night he would ever have with Aric.

When he looked up, he saw the woman again, standing in the water, although the waves did not touch her. Gulping, Nacius rose to his feet and started towards her. The closer he got, the blurrier she was.

“Who are you?” he asked for the hundredth time, knowing very well that she would not answer his questions.

She spoke this time, however. “You might benefit more from knowing who _you_ are.”

Nacius pinned her with an exasperated look. She knew who he was. She knew his name. She knew where to find him.

“I am not referring to myself,” she said, as though she had heard his thought, loud and clear. “You do not know who or what you are, Nacius Dragovan.”

Nacius lunged at her as she began to disappear into the water. “Nay, wait!”

It was too late. She was gone again.

Nacius was now even more worried that this had all been just a dream.

He looked down at the seawater slapping against his shins while his feet sank into the wet sand beneath the ebbing water.

* * *

# C H A P T E R T H R E E

**Vaelthe, Year 5154, 15 th Ikthadag**

A Goddess’ eyes were not something easily forgettable. And these, in particular, were flaring with bitterness, determination, and so much animosity for Jongin.

The surrounding did not matter, because her blinding presence made it impossible to look anywhere else. Where she demanded attention, she would have it.

Perhaps this was Jongin’s punishment for taking her son away and preventing him from fulfilling his destiny.

 _“I will come for him when he is ready,”_ she spat at Jongin like her words were venom on her tongue. _“And this time, you will long be dead before you could keep him away from the greatness he is meant for. You took my child from me and corrupted him. Now, I will take yours.”_

Jongin woke up, panting, and scrubbed his face with his palms before he glanced out the window. The sun was already coming up. He crawled over his sleeping husband to scramble out of the bed.

“Jongin,” Adrian groaned, rousing with a jolt, when Jongin accidentally kneed him in the stomach.

Without issuing an apology, Jongin stormed out of the room and raced to the loft. He climbed the stairs and stopped midway when he did not find Nacius in his bed.

“What are you doing?” Adrian asked when he showed up, curling an arm around Jongin’s waist to pry him down the ladder.

With a worrying look of horror and a set of watery, bloodshot eyes, Jongin grabbed Adrian’s arms and rasped, “Nacius. He’s gone!”

Adrian frowned. “He probably just snuck out at sunup.”

“Nay,” cried Jongin, yanking away from Adrian. “It was your mother! She took him! I have to go look for him!”

“Jongin,” grunted Adrian, seizing Jongin in his arms before the latter could hurtle out the door to run around the village like a madman, screaming for his son.

He would kill Zhesaris. He would die trying at least!

“You were just dreaming again,” said Adrian, his tightening arms making it impossible for Jongin to break the grip. When Adrian saw the tears streaming down Jongin’s face however, he released his hysterical husband. “I will go look for him. All right? You stay. I’m sure he just went out.”

Jongin nodded shakily and hugged his arms around his shivering body as he sank into a nearby chair.

* * *

Did the sunrise look this magnificent everywhere as it did here? It was one of the many things Nacius really loved about the beach. The sunrise.

The sky was painted with colourful streaks of dawn as the night rapidly made way for the first light. Some fishermen were getting ready to board their boats. They were praying on their knees, looking up at the sky, beseeching the Seven for a good catch today. None of them had noticed Nacius in the tree.

He had not been able to sleep at all. By the time he had gotten home last night, his parents were already in bed. He had spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in his bed, then eventually letting his hand slither under the blanket.

He was not sure if he were over the moon kind of happy or if he were sick to the stomach kind of upset. In the end, he decided that it was both.

He had had the best evening of his life thus far. Aric Thayne knew his name. And he was kinder to Nacius than the latter had expected him to be. He repeatedly replayed the images of Aric licking his lips, running his hand through his hair, flushing red when the cold breeze of the sea stroked his freckled cheeks, smiling – especially _at_ Nacius – and the heat of his skin when they had briefly touched.

It was wrong to fantasize about a boy, who belonged to someone else, the way Nacius had when he was stroking himself last night, biting onto his lower lip to muffle the sounds he was making. He had pictured Aric’s pretty mouth, his rosy lips wrapped around the very shaft Nacius was pumping in his hand. He had pictured bruising those same lips with his own. He had pictured entangling his fingers in those shiny red locks, then later pinning the shop boy to a mattress or a stack of hay, the ground, the wall, whatever.

For someone who had never even been kissed before, Nacius sure had some rather shockingly risqué fantasies.

He supposed that he could have kissed someone if he wanted to. He was certain at least one of those girls, who were always batting their eyes at him, would have been more than happy to sneak off with him to the alleyways or the back of the tavern to do some necking. If Nacius had ever bothered.

He had never wanted to kiss anyone until he realized that he wanted to kiss the shop boy. It was a desire of his since he was thirteen.

Aric must have had plenty of practice at it, Nacius was sure. Even though he had been engaged to Gretchen from childhood, Nacius knew that the redheaded boy had taken his fair share of girls to the back of the _Blue Ducks Tavern_.

Even if a fiancée was out of the picture, Nacius still stood absolutely no chance because not only was he not a girl, he knew for a fact that Aric would not even want him as a friend. Just because he had been polite for one-third of an evening while he was partially drunk did not mean he wanted to hobnob with the aberration of the village.

“Will you come down or shall I come up there and drag you down?” a familiar voice came from down below.

Taken aback, Nacius looked down from the coconut tree and saw his Father, who was staring up at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“Father?” he rasped, hurrying to clamber down the tree. What was he doing here?

He had not even laced his shirt up. He pinned Nacius with a warm gaze when the boy reached the ground. “Your Papa is worried sick,” he said. His tone was light. He was not angry.

Nacius blinked. “Why?”

“You just disappeared before the sun even came up,” the man said, shaking his head. “Come on. Let’s head home before your Papa sends a search party after you.”

Nacius was confused. “Papa is worried?”

“Yes. Very. He is ready to burn the village down to look for you.”

“But where would I even go?”

His Father heaved a sigh. “Hopefully nowhere, Nacius.”

Scratching the back of his head, Nacius followed the man home. On their way, his Father looked to him and said, “How was the celebration last night? You came home rather late.”

Nacius tried not to blush. It was not a very boyish thing to do – blushing. Although he did often catch his parents blushing at one another on several occasions. Even his Father blushed sometimes when his Papa would whisper something into his ear while softly playing with the older man’s hair as they lay on the ground, cuddled up in a blanket before the fireplace.

Nacius was not sure if he would ever find love. But if he did, he wanted it to be like the one his parents’ had for one another. They never told him the story of how they had fallen in love. Or rather they never went into details. They had met one day on the road and it just sort of happened, they had told Nacius once.

“It was… uneventful,” Nacius lied, and his father fixed him a smug look, as though he had seen right through Nacius’ fib.

He smirked. “You need not hide things from me, boy,” he said. “It’s all right if you went off with a filly and had a bit of fun.”

Nacius managed a forced smile. “Uh… Yeah. Something like that.” He swallowed.

His father’s complacent look faltered, and he regarded Nacius with a more serious one. “Is everything all right?”

For a moment, just a moment, Nacius considered telling his Father everything that had been bothering him lately. Namely the two things: the woman from the sea who haunted his dreams and the dooming fact that he was hopelessly in love with Aric Thayne.

“Yeah,” he said instead.

“Because if there is anything at all that’s bothering you,” the man said. “you can always come to me.”

Nacius nodded. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers and stared at the faint scars on his Father’s body that was exposed by the unlaced shirt.

He never asked the man about them. Because he knew that his parents would just tell him another lie.

“Why did you do it?” he asked as they approached their home.

“Do what?”

Nacius drew a deep breath. “What you did to the rebels at the temple the other day.”

His Father stopped and faced Nacius. He was silent for a length, but it did not seem like he was searching for an answer. “Because I did not agree with what they were doing,” he said, steely-eyed.

Nacius bowed his head. “Many of us didn’t. You must have scared those bastards good, though. They haven’t been around all day yesterday. But you… you hurt them. You were so angry. I have never seen you that enraged. All over a flag?”

His Father did not look away from Nacius’ eyes even for a second. “What is it that you really want to ask me, Nacius?”

“If you do not agree with the revolution,” said Nacius, his tone sounding a little accusatory. Perhaps he meant for it to sound that way. “that means you agree with the oppressor.”

He watched his Father’s eyebrows reach one another in a frown. “You speak as if you know better, boy,” he said.

Nacius thought it would be best to fall silent now. “I am just trying to understand why you had reacted when no one else had. I thought what you did was amazing. But other people might not feel the same way, and they might think that you side with the usurper.”

The man turned and started walking again. “I have no care for what the others think, nor am I responsible for it.” He stopped once more and looked back at his son. “What is important is that you stand strong and firm for what you believe in. And what I believe is that those woodrats are up to no good. They are amateur miscreants, who hold the Red Knights in high regard and aspire to be heroes. I can promise you that neither they nor the Red Knights have the makings of a hero. All that they are is a nuisance.”

“But you do not deny that you agree with the Auvrans,” said Nacius.

His Father gave him no immediate reply. Then huffing, he said, “Come, boy. There is no point in discussing this matter. Your Papa is waiting.”

* * *

Later that day, Nacius found himself wandering into the general store. He needed to make sure that he had not imagined or dreamed up the whole thing last night.

He found Aric behind the counter like he usually did. The shop boy was arranging the jars on the shelves while his father entertained the customers.

Fortunately, Aric turned around before Nacius had to do something to get his attention.

His stomach lurched when he saw a small smile quirk up a corner of Aric’s lips. “Need another sack of potato flour, ocean boy?” he said.

“Huh?” Nacius let out. “Oh. Nay. I… um…” He rubbed his nape and glanced around. “Salt. I came for salt.”

Aric raised a brow. “How much?”

“Uh… I don’t know – two scoops?”

He did not really need salt, but he was glad he did not need to stand in the line. He stood in a corner by the counter and watched Aric pack up two scoops of salt flakes.

“Here’s your salt,” he said. “That’d be one copper.”

Nacius handed him the payment and pocketed the package of salt.

“Anything else?”

“Um… Nay, I don’t think so,” muttered Nacius, and he started for the door. He paused and looked back. Aric was still looking at him. “Hey. Do you… want to, um, I don’t know, maybe get a pint of ginger ale at the tavern later?”

His heart fluttered as Aric smiled. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll meet you there after I close the shop.”

Nacius nodded nervously. “Okay. I’ll… see you later then.” He quickly wended his way out of the store.

Aric Thayne was going to make his heart explode one day, and Nacius would gladly let him. Not that he could help it, anyway.

He could not believe that the boy had said yes.

He wandered back to his Papa, who was standing at the fruit stall, filling the basket with fresh figs and coconuts. He had been a mess when Nacius returned home this morning. He had been upset, tearful, and angry when he pounced on Nacius, hugging him so tightly that he might have crushed Nacius’ bones. He then insisted that Nacius followed him everywhere he went today.

“Got what you need, Pa?” he asked, walking over to him.

“Yes. Let’s head home.”

Nacius took the basket from the man. “I got it. You look ill.”

“I am fine,” his Papa sighed. “Just a little weary.”

“I heard you retching in the loo earlier.”

The man was silent for a moment. “I had a bad plum in the morning.”

Nacius decided not to tell him about the little rendezvous he had planned with Aric. He would simply sneak out later, fearing that it would only distress his Papa, for some reason, if he told. Of course, if the man found out on his own, it would be a lot worse.

Still, Nacius decided to take the risk. He would give and do anything to see Aric alone again. As such was the folly of his age.

They came to a stop when they noticed people hurrying to gather at the temple. “What is going on?” Nacius asked one of the villagers.

“The Chief has asked everyone to gather,” the man said.

Nacius exchanged a look with his Papa before they too started for the temple.

* * *

The Chief stood before the temple entrance with a solemn expression. He kept glancing to the gonfalon Adrian had planted to the ground. He was an old man, needless to say. He rarely gathered the people, and when he did, it was usually during festivities or to make announcements.

Jongin wondered if the grave look on the old man’s face had something to do with the rumour that was flying around Vaelthe.

The Chief waited for a few more people to show up before he cleared his throat. “I am sure many of you have been hearing a certain bruit about… the Auvran King,” he said, his weathered eyes flitting to the Auvran gonfalon once more.

Jongin turned his head around to look for Adrian in the crowd. He spotted the Godblood easily. Adrian’s bereaved expression worried Jongin. His shoulders were squared, and his eyes were narrowed. He was bracing himself for bad news, though at the same time, he knew for certain that it had to be _bad_ news.

Jongin did not try to reach him since there were quite a few people standing between them.

“With a heavy heart,” the Chief continued. “I stand before you today, being the bearer of bad news. I received a missive this morning, containing some distressful information.”

He took a brief pause. It was not grief that Jongin saw in the man’s mien. It was fear of the uncertainty the future now posed.

“The Auvran King Raagathor… is no more,” the Chief pronounced. The crowd gasped, but no one made a noise any louder than that. “A funeral will be held the day after tomorrow. We received no other information.”

Someone spoke up then. “Will we have a new king?” he asked.

“I would think so,” said the Chief. “The late King Raagathor had a son who still lives, if I remember correctly.”

“Great,” someone spat in the crowd. It was one of the rebels, but not the one whose hand Adrian had punctured with an arrow. “Another Auvran swine to bow our heads to.”

“There must be no celebration of any sorts tonight,” said the Chief. “All light must be out before midnight. Those who wish to mourn the late king, do it quietly.”

Jongin doubted that anyone would want to mourn Raagathor here. Well, all but one.

When he glanced at Adrian again, the man was already turning around and walking away.

“Take this home,” Jongin told his son, pointing to the basket. “I want to look for your Father.”

He did not wait to hear Nacius’ response as he jostled past the crowd.

He found Adrian perched on an anvil under the blacksmith’s shed. There was no one else around. It was difficult to breathe in here. Jongin avoided the forge at all costs, because it was always so dirty and sooty and greasy. His heart always clenched every time he was reminded of the fact that Adrian, a Godblood and the Crown Prince of the mightiest kingdom in all of the Nine Realms, spent most his days in this ditch, working his fingers to the bone.

He coughed at the palls of smoke the boiling hearth let out as he approached his crestfallen husband.

Adrian did not startle when Jongin placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am so sorry,” he whispered.

Adrian clenched his eyes and drew a sharp breath before he rose to his full height and faced Jongin. “I ought to get back to work,” he said, and it surprised Jongin.

“Adrian,” he let out with a frown. “It is okay to mourn him. It is okay if you are grieving.”

“There is no point,” said Adrian. “You should get back home. I will see you later.”

Jongin blinked and took a step back as Adrian started for the forge, picking up a metal rod on his way.

He had never looked so cold.

Jongin left him be, knowing that some people chose to mourn in silence and solitude.

* * *

Adrian came home very late that night. Jongin rose from his seat when the man stepped in through the front door with his shoulders slumped and eyes shot with fatigue.

“Adrian?” Jongin called, but the man quietly strode past him to fetch a cup of water from the kitchen. Following him into the next room, Jongin stood silently for a moment, fidgeting with the laces of his tunic. “Adrian?”

“What is it?” asked Adrian without turning around to face Jongin. He was gripping the shelf. Blinking with confusion, Jongin advanced a couple of steps, attempting to close the distance between them.

Truth be told, he was not sure how to tackle any of this. When his own father had passed, Adrian had done a marvellous job at offering Jongin the comfort and support he had needed.

But how was Jongin to do it when he himself did not feel a drop of grief for Raagathor’s passing? The man had ruined countless lives. He had taken everything away from Jongin, including his identity and dignity.

Still, the man he loved had cared for the villainous king. Jongin must at least try to be of some comfort, for Adrian’s sake if nothing else.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a breathy voice.

Adrian was silent, irresponsive. Jongin began to worry. He took a step closer.

“Is there something… I can do?” he asked, raising a hand.

Just as his fingers touched his husband’s back, Adrian spun around with a fierce glower that made Jongin’s arm fall back to his side limply.

“Nay,” he spat through his teeth. “There is nothing that you can do but leave me be for one-tenth of a second.”

Shocked, Jongin gaped at the Godblood, whose eyes were flaring menacingly. “Adrian,” he rasped. “I understand that you are upset, but–”

“Why do you pretend as though you care?” spat Adrian, shocking Jongin even more. “I know that you are glad. I know that you do not want to do this. So, please, spare me the false comforts. We both know that you are happy about his death. You had wished for it on several occasions, haven’t you?”

Jongin could do nothing but stare at the man for a moment. Grief had the power to drive even the sanest man to insanity. And not even the Gods were spared from its grip.

“I-I am… not happy about his death, Adrian,” Jongin said, his voice breaking. He was not sure why his eyes were burning. “How could you say such a thing? I hated the man. But he is your father nonetheless, and I know that you loved him. I know that you are in pain.”

“I am not in pain,” said Adrian through his gritted teeth. “And you don’t have to do this.”

“I just want you to know that I am here for you, Adrian,” said Jongin. “Why are you being so cruel to me now?”

“I am not being cruel, Jongin!” he barked then, and Jongin staggered back a step. “

“For Seven’s sake,” Adrian swore, rubbing his forehead, before he shoved past Jongin and stormed out of the cottage again.

Left alone in a deafening silence, Jongin brought a hand to his belly, that was already growing, and frowned. He retired to his room and curled up on the cold bed, hoping that Adrian would return soon.

They argued often, but none of their arguments had been this aggressive. Adrian was spiralling. Jongin had seen him grieve before, but it was never like this. He was never angry towards Jongin. But tonight, he was. He had talked to Jongin as though the latter had been the one to cause this tragedy.

And how could he accuse Jongin of _wishing_ for his father’s death?

* * *

 _“He should have been a God,”_ Zhesaris told him. _“You took that away from him. Now, he would have become a king! If it weren’t for you. You do not deserve him. You never did. You are not worthy of his love. If you had drowned that day, he would have remained a God. You should have drowned. You should have died along with your child.”_

Nay, it was not Zhesaris who had come to him in the dream.

Jongin realized that it had been his own voice.

He woke up in tears.

The bed was still cold. Adrian had not come home yet. The night was still young and dark outside.

Jongin hugged his knees to his chest and sobbed quietly.

He then heard a knock on the front door.

* * *

The news of the Auvran King’s death had, for some reason, his Papa preoccupied. He did not notice when Nacius snuck out in the evening.

The streets were quieter than usual. Lanterns and torches were stamped out. The ones that were not at the tavern or the eatery were holed up in their own homes.

Nacius quickly made his way to the tavern, keeping his clammy hands in the pockets of his trousers. He was nervous. He was not sure if Aric would show up, especially following the sudden turn of events.

There were a few men in the tavern, quietly drinking without clinking their tankards. Nacius had never seen the tavern so empty. No sign of Aric yet.

He walked over to the counter and waited until the tavernkeeper turned his way.

“What can I get you, lad?” the woman asked. Nacius felt a little bad meeting her eyes, guilty about all the times he had stolen from her.

“Ginger ale,” said Nacius, sighing. “Just a pint.”

“Make that two.”

He turned around to look at Aric, who was walking towards him, sporting an easy smile. Nacius swallowed hard and turned to the tavernkeeper again.

“Two pints of ginger ale,” he muttered.

“Mad day, isn’t it?” said Aric as he came to stand next to Nacius. “I wonder if a new king means a new reign.”

Nacius picked up one of the tankards the tavernkeeper handed them. “Should we drink to the new king’s health?”

Aric scoffed. “He is probably just as bad as his father,” he said. “Raagathor’s whole line should just perish.”

Nacius sighed and took a sip. “To the demise of Raagathor’s lineage, then.”

Smirking, Aric lifted his tankard and drank.

Nacius wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before he spoke. “I did not think you’d show up,” he murmured.

Aric cocked an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I? I said, I would, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” exhaled Nacius. “Still. You never wanted to hang out before.”

“Well, you never asked me to before.”

Nacius stopped to gaze into Aric’s eyes for a length, and he was surprised when he realized that Aric was staring back into his, too. They then started for a vacant table.

“Did you receive many presents yesterday?” asked Nacius.

“A few good ones,” replied Aric. “A few odd ones.”

“Like what?”

Chuckling, the other boy said, “Sheaths. Leather ones.”

Nacius blinked. “Sheaths? The kind purposed for swords and daggers?”

Aric broke into a laughter. Nacius frowned, wondering if he had made a fool of himself. Aric stopped laughing abruptly and shook his head. “Nay,” he said, his voice lowered. “The kind purposed for lovemaking.”

Nacius nearly choked on his ale. “Oh.”

Gods, he was such an idiot.

“Did you get those when you turned sixteen, too?” asked Aric with a cheeky grin. He seemed to be a light mood.

Nacius pretended to be busy with his drink, so that he would not have to speak. He swallowed real, real slow. He shook his head at length.

“I got a sword,” he said. “Father made it himself.”

“I think I’d have liked that better,” said Aric, chortling. “Do you know how to use one?”

“I can wield it fine,” muttered Nacius. “Not as good as my Father, though.”

“He knows swordplay? And is a great marksman, too? Saw the way he put the arrow through Maron’s hand. Are you good with a bow and arrow, too?”

“A little bit,” admitted Nacius. “I think I’m better with my hands than my sword.”

That made Aric break into another laugh. Nacius blinked at him. “You are funny, ocean boy. Who would have thought?”

Nacius did not know what he had said that Aric found so funny, but he smiled, simply because he enjoyed the sound of Aric’s laughter.

“Why did you think I would not show up?” the shop boy inquired a moment later.

Nacius licked his lips. “We never really talked until last night. I just thought that –”

He was cut off by the tavern door that swung open before a group of boys stomped in, guffawing and cheering loudly with no apparent cause.

Nacius immediately recognized them. The rebels. And some of the other boys from the village. Nacius had seen them last night at Aric’s birthday celebration, too.

Even Maron was there, with his hand bandaged.

“Let the mead flow!” he bellowed, marching over to the tavernkeeper. Slapping a hand on the counter, he said, “Fuck what the Auvrans want us to do to mourn their bloody king. Tonight, we celebrate! Loudly! We’ll light the torches on the streets! We’ll dance and sing all night long!”

The tavernkeeper looked at the gang of boys worriedly. “I’m afraid I can’t serve you for that reason tonight,” she said. “Chief’s orders.”

Another boy stepped forward. It was Rory.

“You just shut up and give us what we want, woman,” he growled, slamming his fist on the counter.

Jumping with a start, the tavernkeeper nodded her head and hurried away.

“That’s more like it,” scoffed Rory as he smirked at Maron before he turned around. He froze all of a sudden, eyes widening when he spotted Aric at the table. He quickly looked to Nacius, and the shock doubled.

“Look… who’s here,” he said, and the other boys Aric hung out with turned, too.

“Aric?” another rasped.

“I thought you said you’re not one of them,” Nacius said, frowning at Aric.

“I’m not,” grumbled Aric. He stiffened in his seat for a while, drawing deep breaths.

“What are you doing here with this cocksucker’s son, Thayne?” asked Maron, walking over to the table. Nacius kept his gaze low, his nostrils already flaring as he gripped the tankard in one hand while fisting the other under the table.

“Butt out, Maron,” Aric said calmly without looking up at him.

Maron turned away from Aric and leaned down towards Nacius. “Look what your _cocksucking_ father did to my hand,” he said, lifting the bandaged hand. “I am terribly tempted to return the favour.”

“Seriously, Aric,” said Rory, frowning. “Why are you having drinks with this freak? You should you were going to be busy tonight.”

“Maybe he’s having his cock suck by the freak,” said another one of the rebels. He was bald and uglier than the rest. Nacius huffed heavily, grinding his teeth to powder.

Rory chuckled, and Maron straightened up, grinning sinisterly.

“I’d wager he sucks cock, too,” said Maron. “Like his father. Or maybe he has a pretty little cunt between his legs. Like that Aevayl that gave birth to him.”

“When did you become friends with him, Aric?” asked another one of Aric’s friends.

Aric shot up to his feet then and faced the others. “We’re not friends,” he said.

Nacius’ fists loosened on their own, and he glanced up at Aric, his limbs turning completely numb for a moment. He felt so sick suddenly that he thought that he was going to throw up.

He stood up and pinned Aric with a pathetic look before he said, “He’s right. We’re not friends. We just… ran into each other. Don’t read into it.”

Aric’s eyebrows furrowed as Nacius shoved past him, heading for the exit. He could not bear it. His heart was thundering against his ribs. He wanted to rip it out to end his suffering.

He glanced back once, like he always did, to look at Aric. He found the shop boy to be frowning at him.

Shaking his head, Nacius raised a hand to the door handle, and that was when the ground beneath him quaked with a force that nearly knocked him off his feet.

He turned around to see if the others had felt it, too. Some of the boys were already on the ground. Aric was holding onto a chair.

“What was that?!” some other man in the tavern shrieked, his drink spilled on the table.

The second quake had Nacius’ slamming against the door and Aric falling to his knees. He gazed up at the ceiling. Something had landed on the roof. Something mountainously heavy.

The tavernkeeper screaming when the tavern shook once more, causing the shelves and barrels to topple.

Nacius looked up at the ceiling again and noticed the wooden truss that was coming loose from its position. And then in just a blink of an eye, it fell.

Instead of running out of the tavern as the other men there were attempting to, Nacius bolted forward, realizing that Aric and some of the other boys were directly below the falling truss.

“Nacius! What are you–” Aric gasped just as Nacius caught the truss that brought him down to one of his knees. Groaning and growling at the impact, he tried to balance the hefty post – that was heavy enough to crush at least three men – on his shoulders.

While the others quickly scrambled out of the tavern, Aric had stayed behind to gawk at Nacius, who rose back to his full height, still bearing the truss on his shoulders.

“How are you…” Aric let out, more concerned about Nacius’ strength than whatever that had the ground and the roof shaking.

Tossing the truss to the ground, Nacius huffed, “We should probably get out of here.” He, for once, did not hesitate to grab hold of Aric’s hand.

“What the–” Aric said, yanking his hand away from Nacius’.

It almost broke his heart, but then he found Aric gawping with his mouth hanging open at his left hand.

Nacius lifted it and blinked, with his own jaw falling slack, at the glowing symbols on his palm. When he turned it around, he found symbols on the back of his hand, too. They glowed in a bluish hue.

Aric fell against him with a thud that staggered Nacius back when the ground shook once more. Nacius caught the boy in his arms, steadying them both.

Then all of a sudden, the quaking stopped. Outside, the villagers were screaming.

“You’re… _strong_ ,” Aric pointed out, barely breathing, as he looked up at Nacius, eyes wide with either awe or horror – Nacius could not tell.

He quickly retrieved his arms from around the other boy and glanced at his left hand again. It had stopped glowing.

They then ran outside to see the people scurrying around, caterwauling like they were set on fire.

“A Wyvern!” someone cried. “I saw it! It disappeared into the night!”

“Dragon!” another bayed.

A few women were fainted on the ground. Some children were crying at the top of their lungs. Others slowly came out of the homes with pitchforks and questions.

Nacius lurched forward, ready to run towards home, but he stopped when Aric caught his arm.

“What are you?” the boy asked in a breath, eyebrows drawn together in something like concern.

“I can’t talk right now,” rasped Nacius. “I have to get home.”

Aric released his arm immediately, though he continued to frown.

“I promise, I will find you later,” said Nacius, even though he was not sure that Aric would even want to see him again.

As he raced towards home, he thought about Aric’s question. He had no answer to it, because he did not know it. He had always been stronger than other boys or even men, but only tonight had he always found out just _how_ strong he actually was.

And the hand thing? He hadn’t the slightest clue what that was.

He hurriedly dodged the people who were scuttering all over the place in his way. Some of them continued to scream ‘dragon’ and ‘wyvern’. Nacius smelled smoke. It was all that he could smell.

One man grabbed him and frantically said, “Your house! Your house!” Without elaborating, he then scampered away.

When he could finally see his home, he came to an abrupt halt, his heart dropping. The cottage was engulfed in flames.

* * *

# C H A P T E R F O U R

Who could it be?

It could not be Adrian or Nacius knocking on the door. Nacius had snuck out earlier. He probably thought that Jongin would not realize. After the way Jongin had acted this morning over his absence, he probably thought he had a better chance of going out tonight if he did not tell Jongin that he was going out.

He always snuck back in somehow without making a noise. So, it could not be him knocking on the door at this time.

Jongin paused in his tracks, realizing that he was smelling fire smoke. He glanced to the fireplace and saw nothing but dying embers. He jumped with a start when the door was pounded on again.

With his heart in his mouth, he crossed the room in the dark and slowly raised his hand to the doorknob. It was quite warm to the touch.

Opening the door, he looked at the bald stranger, who stood on his doorstep, clad in a single loincloth and covered in black tattoos. They looked like symbols of some kind. Or perhaps a foreign syllabary. Either way, Jongin did not recognize them. He did not recognize the man either.

The hairs on the nape of his neck rose, and a shiver was sent down his spine.

“May I help you?” he asked, shuddering at the way the stranger was grinning at him. His frizzy beard was in braids, and his teeth were a stained with yellow, and he flashed every one of them at Jongin like an old friend. He looked young. He might have been Jongin’s age. But he was a whole head shorter than Jongin. He was barefooted as well.

“Yes,” said the stranger in an almost happy tone. “Yes, you may.”

Jongin retreated into the cottage as the stranger let himself in. “What are you doing?” rasped Jongin. “Who are you?”

The man slammed the door shut behind him and stroked the braids in his beard, still grinning forbiddingly. “Ah,” he let out. “It even smells like him in here.”

“Wh-What are you talking about?” Jongin took back a step for every step the stranger advanced. His heart was hammering against his chest. He realized that he was afraid and panicked. “You are not welcome here.”

“Am I not now?” mused the stranger, cocking his head. He stopped advancing and blinked at Jongin before smiling again. “I had refused to believe the hearsays. But then again, who could blame him? Look at you. I suppose any man would want to have you. You are a very pretty thing, prettier than most bitches where I’m from, smelling of peaches and lavenders. Would you burn if I touched you?”

Jongin reached for the fireplace poker and pointed it to the man. “What are you blethering about? If you are here to rob me, then you really picked the wrong house.”

The stranger laughed. “Rob you?” he said, as though it were the most comical notion. “Nay, sweetheart. I am not even here for you.”

Staring at the man, Jongin lowered the fireplace poker a little. “Then… what are you here for? I think you got the wrong house.”

He lifted the poker again when the stranger tried to take a step forward. “Stop playing coy,” the man snorted. “Where is he?”

Jongin scowled. “Who are you talking about?”

“Word travels fast,” he said. “Where is the dragon slayer?”

Jongin’s arms fell limp at his sides then. _Adrian_. The man was looking for Adrian. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“I know he lives,” the stranger spat through his stained teeth, the complacent smile on his face promptly replaced by a menacing glower. “I know he hides. He has been hiding here all along, putting his prick between your legs, if the rumours were true.”

Jongin could not breathe or turn a hair for a moment. The room began to spin around him.

He watched the tattoos and veins on the man’s body light up like a torched firewood. He gasped, stumbling over a floorboard before he dropped on the ground.

“Where… is… the… Godblood?” the stranger asked, his voice as loud as the thunder.

“He’s not here,” Jongin tried lying weakly.

The stranger scoffed. “Do you take me for a fool?” he spat, lowering himself to a crouch.

He reeked of fire and smoke, contaminating the air that surrounded him.

“I am so tempted to touch you,” the man then said, sighing heavily. “But I do not want to burn you just yet. Whose skirt is he hiding behind now, while you make up lies for him? Are the legends false? Perhaps I have been misinformed of his courage and strength. Perhaps all that his prick is good for is sticking it in other lads.”

Jongin spat on the stranger’s face then, chest heaving with anger. The stranger did not have to wipe the spit off his face as it simple sizzled and evaporated against his hot skin. He laughed and smirked at Jongin.

“You are a feisty one,” he said. “I am going to have so much fun hurting you.”

Jongin raised one of his feet and stomped it on the man’s chest, causing him to fall on his rump. He gasped when he realized the sole of his feet burned like it had briefly touched a burning furnace. He quickly scrambled up onto his knees and then his feet and bolted for the backdoor.

Before he could reach it, however, it went up in flames. He halted with a jerk and turned to face the stranger, who was lowering his hand with a smirk still plastered on his lips.

The fire was quickly spreading, licking up the walls of the kitchen.

“Who are you?!” Jongin growled, hands clenched at his sides.

The man liked that question this time. His grin widened. “You did not think Adrian Dragovan is the only Godblood to exist, did you?”

Jongin’s heart dropped to his stomach.

“Sure,” said the stranger. “Not all of us have been as fortunate as he, born with a golden spoon in his mouth and all.” He licked his smiling lips. “But I think we can all agree that he is not the mightiest Godblood as everyone thought him to be. Mightiest Godblood?” He stretched his arms out, as though he were presenting himself. “You are looking at him.”

Jongin could not decide if the man were more horrific or obnoxious.

“The name is Iarund,” he said, as though he were making an announcement. “Son of Hetar.”

Jongin’s breath hitched. “The God of… Hellfire,” he let out, recognizing the name instantly.

“A son of a bitch is what he is,” Iarund scoffed. “But I will prove it to him that I am worth a hundred Godbloods! And what better way to do than to destroy every other Godblood in the Nine Realms?”

“I know the path you are on,” Jongin rasped, frowning. He moved away from the fire that was rapidly growing behind him. He hoped to make it to the front door. “It leads nowhere. It will not bring you any peace.”

Iarund tilted his head, taking a few steps to his side as Jongin slowly slinked toward the front door. “That’s the thing, love,” he said. “I desire no peace.”

Jongin was already gasping for breath as sweat beads trickled down his face.

“Chaos,” said Iarund. “I desire chaos. The world on a fire – a fire so vast and massive. Now, imagine that.”

“So, you want to be the villain,” said Jongin, huffing and puffing. “I can assure you that good will always rise against evil.”

Iarund looked very amused. “That’s why I’m here. To destroy the ‘good’ before it can rise against me.”

Jongin gave the front door a brief sidelong glance before he sprung toward it. In just a blink, Iarund obstructed his path, standing before Jongin with a bemused simper.

“You are not going anywhere,” said the man. “until he shows up. So, scream, shout, cry for him.” He lifted a hand, cupping a fireball. “Do you know what a dragon’s fire is made of?”

“Why do I feel like you are about to tell me,” said Jongin.

Iarund chuckled. “I adore how cheeky you are,” he said. “Hellfire. The very fire that runs through their veins and sits comfortably in the pit of their bellies is hellfire. And he who summons and wields such fire has the power to command the dragons.”

“The Wyverns are gone,” rasped Jongin. “Their leader has long been defeated.”

“The thing about leaders,” said Iarund. “They can always be replaced.”

Jongin lurched forward to get past the stranger, but he halted once more when Iarund hurled the fireball onto the ground between them. The floorboards instantly caught on fire. Jongin broke into tears then. There was nowhere to run, and the home he had built so lovingly was burning.

He was ready to drop to his knees, running out of air to breathe as palls of smoke filled the cottage, when the thunderous bang sent the front door flying inwards, slamming against the back of Iarund, sending the man stumbling to the ground.

“Adrian!” Jongin cried, coughing and sobbing, as the Godblood entered, his steps steady, a hand gripping the doorjamb above. His eyebrows were drawn together in a ferocious scowl, the veins on his neck and forehead protruding. His left arm was glowing an almost translucent blue.

“Get… out… of my… house,” he said, his blazing eyes glaring at Iarund, who was scrambling up to his feet. He briefly looked to Jongin before turning his attention back to Iarund, the anger in his eyes multiplying tenfold.

“Finally,” scoffed Iarund. Every inch of his body flared up red then, in complete contrast to Adrian’s pellucid azure arm. “The prodigal son returns.”

Iarund reached out and grabbed one of the table legs, ripping it from the rest of the table. The wood instantly caught his fire, and he wasted no time in hurling it towards Adrian.

Even as the wood slammed against his chest and promptly burned his shirt to ash, Adrian stood still, unflinching. Iarund smirked to look at the blue glow that spread from the left side of Adrian’s chest all the way down to the tip of his fingers.

“Impressive,” he said. “For an old man. You’re hellfire-proof.”

“My turn,” spat Adrian as he picked up the table singlehandedly and swung it in Iarund’s way. It struck the man and sent him staggering back before it caught on fire, too.

Iarund laughed like a madman. “That’s more like it!” he shouted. “I was afraid that you might make it too easy for me like the others!”

Others? Other Godbloods?

Now standing on opposite ends of the cottage, they were huffing at one another like maddened bulls. Then at once, they lunged forward. When they rammed against each other, Iarund’s hands closing around Adrian’s neck, Adrian’s slamming on the sides of the other Godblood’s head, the floorboards caved, and their feet pressed into the ground. They held their positions for a moment, groaning and roaring, every vein in Adrian’s body bulging under his skin.

Meanwhile, Jongin attempted to get out, but he did not think that he could past the two battling Godbloods without getting seriously injured. Around him, the fire was quickly growing.

“Who are you?!” roared Adrian like a feral beast.

This was what a battle between Godbloods looked like. It was a thunderstorm. A pandemonium on its own.

Adrian pulled his head back before driving it into Iarund’s face repeatedly until Iarund’s hands came loose around his neck. He then grabbed one of Iarund’s arms, twisting it in one hand while he fisted the other.

“Yes!” screamed Iarund as Adrian plunged his fist into the other man’s face. “Yes!”

Adrian jabbed him in the nose once more before he grabbed the man by his neck. Lifting Iarund from the ground, Adrian swung the man over his own head before slamming him down on the fiery broken floorboards. Iarund was laughing now, grunting a little.

Adrian ripped the ladder to the loft with a hand and smashed against the other Godblood before he rammed a fist into Iarund’s chest, driving him deeper into the ground.

Iarund spat some blood and grinned at Adrian, his teeth bloody. “At last,” he said, panting. “A worthy opponent. Defeating you would make me a God. I will take your home first. Not this one. Your real home. Then I’ll take your people. And then perhaps, I will take what’s most precious to you.” He turned his sinister grin towards Jongin. “I’ll inflict so much on the ones you love, Adrian Dragovan. You will watch them all burn!”

Adrian’s eyebrows rose, and he stared at Iarund for a moment.

With both hands gripping Adrian’s fist that was planted in his chest, Iarund let out one last laugh before he summoned a fireball and hurled it in Adrian’s eyes.

As Adrian stumbled back, Iarund rose to his feet in the blink of an eye and disappeared through the front entrance.

Jongin fell to his knees, fighting for breath. He looked up when he felt Adrian’s arms wrap around him. “Let’s get you out of here,” muttered Adrian with a worried frown as he lifted Jongin into his arms.

Jongin buried his face in his husband’s bare chest as he was carried out of their beautiful home that was about to become nothing but dust and rubble.

* * *

He woke up in an unfamiliar room. He was lying on a thin pallet, and the room reeked of medicinal herbs. The morning sunlight that flooded the room through the open windows blinded him for a moment when he opened his eyes.

“Jongin,” he heard a comforting voice and turned to look at Adrian, who was hurrying to the bed’s side. “Are you all right?”

He took a seat on the edge and took hold of Jongin’s hand.

“You had passed out before I got you to the hospice,” he said, frowning.

Jongin sat up and sucked in a shaky breath. He had not dreamed up everything that had happened, after all. A Godblood named Iarund had come to their home and challenged Adrian.

“He knows,” Jongin let out, tears welling up in his eyes. “He knows that you live. He knows where you are.”

Adrian’s frown deepened, and he bowed his head. “I do not know who he is.”

Jongin kept his voice low as he spoke. His throat felt sore and dry. “He said his name is Iarund. He is… son of Hetar.”

Adrian did not look surprised. “I figured,” he muttered. “He wielded hellfire.”

“Did you know that there were… other Godbloods?”

Adrian shook his head. “But I thought there might be a few. The Gods mated with mortals every so often.”

Jongin brought his knees up and hugged them to his chest. “He wants to kill you to prove himself worthy,” he said. “He wants to become a God. He thinks it’s his destiny.”

Adrian closed his eyes momentarily and huffed a heavy sigh.

“What is it?” asked Jongin, lifting a hand to touch his husband’s back.

“I can’t help but think that he went looking for me in Auvradevas,” murmured Adrian. “And he must have found my father.”

Jongin blinked. “Do you think… he killed your father?”

Adrian fell silent. He rose from the bed and started pacing the room.

“Where is Nacius?” asked Jongin, panic rising in his chest again.

“He is outside,” said Adrian. “He is unharmed, don’t worry.”

Jongin swallowed. “I want to see him,” he said, as though he would not believe it until he saw his son, safe and unharmed.

Adrian sighed. “I will send him in.”

Jongin nodded.

Adrian left the room before Nacius entered. “Papa,” he called in a sombre voice.

“Oh, Nacius,” Jongin gasped, climbing out of the bed to throw his arms around his son.

He stood in the boy’s embrace for a while, thanking the Seven for keeping him safe.

“Where were you last night?!” he demanded, pulling back. “You could have gotten hurt!”

Nacius fixed him with an indifferent look. “I really don’t think so, Pa,” he said. Jongin sat back down on the hospice bed and stared at his son, who took his seat in the chair across the bed. “What happened last night?”

“Didn’t your Father tell you?”

Nacius gripped his jaw. “He said the cottage had caught fire,” he spat fiercely. His tone took Jongin back. “Meanwhile, the entire village is going batshit nuts about seeing a Wyvern.”

Jongin lowered his head. “A Wyvern…” he let out.

“Yes, a Wyvern, Pa,” he said. “And it was there.”

Jongin looked up at the boy again. “You saw it?”

“Nay,” said Nacius, still sounding indignant. “But stood on the tavern’s roof. I was there.”

“You were at the tavern last night? What were you doing there?”

Nacius shot up to his feet. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. “That does not matter! Will you tell me what really happened last night?!” he growled. “Enough with the lies! I know what I saw.”

He stopped to looked down at his left hand, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

“Nacius,” Jongin called in a whisper. “What exactly… did you see?”

When the boy raised his head, his eyes were shot with blood. “What happened last night, Papa? How did the fire start? Was it the… Wyvern?” he asked, his voice breaking. “What is going on?”

For far too long, Nacius had been kept in the dark. And if it had been up to Jongin, he would have remained in the dark forever. It was his best shot at a normal life. There was no telling what might happen if Nacius knew. If he found out who he really was and what sort of power he had at his disposal…

Jongin planted his face in his hands. “You deserve the truth, Nacius,” he said. “We should not have kept you in the dark all this time. We thought that it would keep you safe. But I suppose you would have found out sooner or later. I’d hoped it would be later.”

Nacius looked worried. “Papa,” he exhaled. “What have you been keeping from me?”

Jongin took a deep breath.

* * *

The afternoon was the hottest it had been in a while. Although the fire had happened on the outskirts of the village, the haze and ash were everywhere now, polluting the air with its smogginess.

Some of the villagers had gathered around the ruined tavern, trying to figure out how to repair it for Madam Goth, the widow who owned the establishment. Others were at an assembly with the Chief, demanding explanations and answers for the catastrophe that had taken place.

Most of the shops were open. There was only one that Nacius cared about. With his heart in his mouth, he walked over to the general store, which was the emptiest he had ever seen it.

He stopped at the entrance, his ashen complexion probably not doing much to mask his despondency. His chest felt so heavy that he could barely breathe. His limbs felt numb right to the tips of his fingers.

He found Aric mopping up the spilled oil on the floor while his father fixed the shelves that had come off.

Nacius wanted to kick himself. He never should have asked for the truth. He had no idea just how burdensome the truth would be. Now that he knew everything, he wished that he didn’t.

Aric paused what he was doing and looked up, as though he had felt Nacius’ presence. Setting the mop aside, he wiped his hands on his shop boy apron before taking it off.

Nacius wanted to turn on his heel and run away, but he did not. He stood rooted to the ground as Aric approached him.

“Hey,” muttered Aric. He stopped a couple of feet before Nacius and crossed his arms over his chest. He was waiting for Nacius to say something, but the latter was not sure he could find his voice. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

Nacius nodded his head.

Aric led him to the back of the store, where a dog was chasing some hens. He shooed the dog away and leaned back against a wall with his hands behind him.

Nacius stood near the opposite wall. He kept his gaze low, because he knew Aric was staring at him.

“So, do you want to pretend like it did not happen last night?” asked Aric.

Nacius looked up then and frowned. “What?”

Aric sighed. “Is it a secret you have been keeping from everyone?”

Nacius shook his head. “I did not know I could do that until last night.”

Aric’s eyes widened. “Really?” he said. “So… what _were_ you doing last night?”

Nacius shrugged. “I don’t know.” He really did not. He had not had the chance to ask his parents about it. He had run out of the hospice as soon as his Papa was done telling him about his lineage. He was not sure he even believed half of it, though. Perhaps he just did not want to.

The woman who came to him in his dreams. She was a Goddess. She was his… grandmother. He had not told his Papa about her, though. He had just sat there and listened.

“You don’t know?” said Aric. “Are you… maybe cursed? Is it witchcraft?”

Nacius closed his eyes for a length. “Can you… not tell anybody about it?”

Aric scoffed. “It isn’t like anyone would believe me even if I told,” he said. Nacius frowned at him. Sighing, the shop boy said, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

Nodding, Nacius started to walk away. Aric caught his arm, just like he had the previous night.

“Thank you,” murmured Aric. He looked so beautiful under the midday sun. His locks were scarlet red now. “For… last night.”

Nacius was acutely aware of the other boy’s hand that was snaking down his elbow. It eventually settled around Nacius’ wrist.

“And I’m sorry for what _I_ did last night,” said Aric, his bony fingers slowly sliding into Nacius’ palm.

“And what’s that?” asked Nacius. Had it been any other day, his knees might have already buckled. But he was sleepless, weary and confused.

“When I told the boys that… we’re not friends,” admitted Aric with a guilt-stricken look. He stilled and flinched when Nacius yanked his hand back, just as their fingers began to intertwine, as though it were burned.

“Well, we aren’t,” he said quietly. “You do not have to be sorry.”

“Nacius,” Aric sighed.

“You ignored me for years on end, Aric,” Nacius mumbled. “It does not matter what you said last night. I do not care, okay? You can go back to acting like I do not exist. Or better yet, go back to hating my existence.”

“I’ve never hated you,” said Aric with a shocked expression. Even if it that were true, he sure as hell would if he knew who Nacius truly was. So, it was better to nip this in the bud right now. Besides, it was not as though Nacius were hoping they would become best of friends one day.

“That’s right,” scoffed Nacius. “You just agreed with the others who hated me.”

Aric shook his head. “Forget about it,” he grumbled and marched off.

Long after he was gone, Nacius slumped back against the wall before dropping to the ground, planting his head in his hands.

* * *

“You ought to eat something,” said Adrian, entering the room with a plate of sugared plantains. “Where is Nacius?”

Jongin was perched on the windowsill. “He ran off,” he muttered. “I told him.”

Adrian placed the plate on the nightstand and walked over to him. “Told him what?”

“The truth.” He sighed.

Adrian was mum for a moment. Then licking his lips, he said, “Why would you do that?”

“Because the jig is up, Adrian,” said Jongin, scowling. “I don’t think we can keep this away from him any longer. He has to know. It is the only way to keep him safe now.”

“How much did you tell him?”

Jongin scrubbed his face with a palm. “A lot,” he said. “I told him who you are.”

“Did you tell him who _you_ are?”

Jongin shook his head. “Does it matter?”

“You are still a prince, Jongin,” said Adrian, taking hold of Jongin’s hand. “You were born one. You always will be the Prince of Warinia.”

Jongin leaned his head against his husband’s chest. “Iarund will return. We can’t live here anymore. We have to leave. We have to go somewhere far away.”

Adrian pressed a kiss to the top of Jongin’s head. “He will find me wherever I go,” he said, much to Jongin’s dismay, even though Jongin already knew that. “I cannot run from what happened last night, Jongin. And I cannot put you in danger again.”

Jongin lifted his head and met Adrian’s eyes worriedly. “What do you mean?”

“Iarund will not stop until I take the fight to him,” he said, chest puffed out. “He would continue to hurt innocent people to prove himself. He would go to Auvradevas. He would bring chaos.”

Jongin stood up from the windowsill. “What are you suggesting then? Do you wish to fight him?”

“Would you prefer that I cowered and ran?” argued Adrian. “I am a Godblood. I would not stand idly and watch my kingdom get razed to the ground.”

Jongin could not help the venomous words that rose in his throat then. “Yet you had no problem razing _my_ kingdom to the ground.”

Adrian paused and flinched back.

Shaking his head disapprovingly, Jongin said, “You have made up your mind,” he said. “Not because of what happened last night, but long before that. You want to go home. You miss it. Now, you have the perfect excuse to return.”

“Jongin–”

“Do not patronize me, Adrian,” huffed Jongin. “I am neither a child nor an idiot.”

“You do not have to go with me,” Adrian said then, his face crumpled in concern. “You and Nacius should go somewhere else. Iarund will only find you if I’m with you.”

Jongin could not believe his ears. He laughed in spite of himself, much to Adrian’s surprise. “We do not have to go with you,” he scoffed. “Do you believe your own words, Adrian? Do you mean it?”

“If it will keep you safe–”

“Need I remind you that you have _tried_ and _failed_ to get rid of me plenty of times before,” spat Jongin, prodding a finger into his husband’s annoyingly muscled chest, which only hurt his finger. “I am not going anywhere, you mad bastard. No matter how much you try to hurt me with your words. I am not going anywhere. If I were to die because of you, then that is my choice. You do not speak for me. Not now, not ever. I lost so much. I’ve lost everyone that I cared about in the past. You would be so very wrong to assume that I would ever let myself lose you again.”

He stopped to take a breath. Adrian was staring at him, tight-lipped.

“I do not know,” said Jongin, fisting his hand around Adrian’s shirt by the chest. “if you remember our vows. But I do. Until death do us part. And trust me, I will crawl after your sorry, infuriating rump, Adrian Dragovan, even _beyond_ death if I can help it.”

For a moment, Jongin thought that Adrian might toss him out the window.

But then Adrian’s hands flew up to hold the sides of Jongin’s head before he smashed their lips together. Jongin’s fist tightened around his husband’s shirt as he promptly lost himself in the rough kiss.

When they came apart for air, Jongin gazed up into Adrian’s eyes and said, “If you are going to Auvradevas, then I’m coming with you.”

Adrian bowed his head in agreement.

* * *

They had lost everything in the fire. Nacius stood in the midst of the wreckage, ash and debris, looking for something to salvage in this mess.

They would have to rebuild everything. But this time, he could help out. When his parents first built this cottage, Nacius had been only a babe.

There would be a lot of work. He sighed. He was still wearing the shirt he had worn the previous night, and he reckoned he must smell terrible.

“Nacius,” he heard his Father call after him. Turning around, he looked at the man. Nay. Not a man. A Godblood, who had renounced his godship. A prince, and not just any prince. The Crown Prince of the mighty kingdom of Auvradevas. The hero from the legends. Nacius had heard about him before, but he had not heard much.

He still found it all very unbelievable, although all that seemed more credible than being a blacksmith’s apprentice in a small fishermen village.

The darkening sky made way for a gloomy evening. It was not dark enough, though. Nacius could still discern the glum expression on his Father’s face.

He stepped out of the ruins and stood before the man with his head lowered. “Is it true?” he let out, heart pounding.

His Father raised a hand to his shoulder. “It does not affect who _you_ are,” he said, as though he knew Nacius’ grievances. “Who I am does not define who you are and should be, son. You are given something I never had. A choice and freedom. You can be whoever you want to be. Whatever you decide, I will stand with you.”

Nacius brought his head up and met the man’s eyes with tears in his own. “I am very confused, Father,” he said, voice shaking. “What happens now?”

Adrian sighed. “I suppose we will find out. _Some_ things will have to change. And I pray that you have the heart and the strength to understand. You are almost a man. And you still have a choice. If you do not want any of this, you can walk away. Your Papa would throw a fit, but he would make peace with it eventually.”

Nacius threw himself onto his Father then and hugged him. “I want us to be together,” he said, choking on a sob. “I do not care who you are. You are my father. I will stand with you, too. No matter what.”

His Father briefly stroked his hair and sniffled once before pulling back. Blinking the tears in his eyes away, he said, “We must leave.”

Nacius understood that. The man who had attacked last night, the man who must have come here with or on the Wyvern, might return. And it was not safe. There were people – particularly one – that Nacius would want to protect, too. If his family was the reason for the attack last night, then they had to leave.

“Where would we go?” he asked, already fretting goodbyes.

His Father sighed, draping an arm over his shoulders. They stood together and stared at the ash that flitted from the ruins.

“Far from here,” the man said. “Far from everything you know. And I should already apologize for what’s to come. But I am certain that you have the spirit to endure anything that comes your way.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Nacius.

His Father flashed a cocky smirk then. “Because you are my son.” He sighed next. “And your Papa’s, and Seven know how stubborn and persistent he can be.”

Nacius let out a soft chuckle, feeling as safe as he always did at his Father’s side.

* * *

Nacius found himself at the general store later after his Father returned to the hospice. Now that he knew he was going away, he did not want to leave things the way they were between him and Aric.

It was the one goodbye that counted to Nacius. The one goodbye that would hurt him the most.

He wished that he had mustered the courage long ago to act on his feelings. He was too late now. Well, he would have been too late back then, too. Aric was someone else’s, and even if he weren’t, he would not desire Nacius in the way Nacius wanted to be desired.

He waited outside until Aric came out to lock the doors.

He jumped with a start when Nacius rose to his feet. “By the Seven,” he gasped. “You are like a ghost!”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Nacius muttered an apology.

Aric’s eyes narrowed as he pocketed the key. “I thought you wanted me to go back to ignoring you,” he said.

Nacius licked his lips and said, “Actually, I wanted to borrow a shirt. All of mine burned in the fire. We’re about the same size, so I thought… you’d lend me one.”

Aric stared at him for a moment. Then heaving a sigh, he said, “Come with me.”

Nacius fell at his side as he followed the boy home. They walked in silence, even though there was so much that Nacius wanted to say to him.

So much had happened in the last few days. There was so much to talk about. Yet, he was at a loss for words. He should at least tell Aric that he was leaving – for good – before the night ended.

“How are your parents?” inquired Aric, breaking the silence at long last.

“Fine,” said Nacius. “Papa sustained a minor burn on his foot. Elsewise, we’re fine.”

“Any idea how the fire started? Or are you believing the dragon story, too?”

Nacius cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t believe there was a Wyvern here last night?”

“I will believe it when I see one with my own two eyes,” scoffed Aric.

“Some of the villagers saw it, though.”

“It was probably an oversized eagle or something,” sighed Aric. “You know how stupid and superstitious these people can be.”

“You were at the tavern. Something big was there.”

“Or it was an earthquake and we were drunk.”

Nacius relented. He did not want to convince Aric of anything.

“Besides,” said Aric. “I think what you were doing with your hand was more interesting.”

“You believe that?”

“Because I saw it with my own two eyes,” he snorted. “And how are you so strong? You caught that truss with your bare hands and didn’t even break a bone in your finger.”

“Aric,” Nacius called. “You promised not to talk about this.”

Aric stopped and exhaled heavily. “Fine. Then let’s talk about what you’re doing.”

Nacius blinked. “What?”

“What you’ve been doing for the last three years, Nacius.”

Nacius felt like his knees were turning to water. “I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Aric rolled his eyes and shook his head. Without saying anything more, he walked into his home. He held the door open for Nacius to enter.

“Keep quiet,” he said. “I don’t want them to know you’re here and have them all over you.”

Nacius certainly did not want that either. He heard voices coming from the drawing room. Aric lived in a big, proper house, and it was quite fancy, adorned with all sorts of wall decors. His family was loaded from running the general store.

“This way,” Aric whispered, dragging Nacius up the stairs.

He heard a girl’s voice, and he instantly recognized it. It was Aric’s fiancée.

“Gods, she’s always here,” said Aric, almost groaning as they reached the top of the staircase.

“Your betrothed?” asked Nacius, just to make sure.

“Yes. Come inside,” he said, walking into a dark room.

Nacius did as he was told. He then stood there in the dark while Aric looked around for matchsticks to light the oil lamp. When he finally managed to do so, Nacius glanced around the bedroom.

“Wow,” he let out. “This is a lot nicer than my loft.”

Aric jumped onto the tall bed and lounged on it, sucking in a big breath. “Oh, yes. Shirt.” He scrambled out of the bed again and hurried to the wardrobe. “What colour do you prefer?”

“Uh… I don’t mind anything.”

“Black it is,” said Aric. “It suits you.”

He fished out a very well-made black shirt from his wardrobe and tossed it to Nacius. “This is far too nice. Don’t you have something… less nice?”

Aric laughed. “Just put it on,” he said.

“Now?”

“You can sleep here if you want,” Aric said while he removed his own shirt. Nacius averted his gaze at once. “If you don’t want to sleep on the hospice chairs.”

Nacius swallowed the annoying lump in his throat. “I’m fine,” he muttered, undoing the laces of his own shirt.

“Suit yourself. I can sneak up some food too if you stayed.”

This was all so very tempting. Nacius did not trust himself enough to give in to this temptation. He would certainly end up doing something completely mortifying.

When he turned around after pulling on Aric’s shirt, he found the shop boy to be staring at him. As though he were caught red-handed, Aric quickly looked away, clearing his throat.

“You’re very lanky for someone that strong,” he said, jumping back onto the bed without bothering to put on another shirt.

It was a sight, all right. He had faint freckles all over his shoulders. He was one to talk because he was almost just as lanky as Nacius, all legs and arms. He was even skinnier with very little muscle weight, and the flat planes of his stomach showcased a thin trail of red hairs that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. And amidst it all were two very pink nipples that stood out so obscenely against his incredibly pale chest. They were the same colour as his lips.

Nacius hoped that his dark skin concealed the flush that made his face hot.

He sat down on the carpeted floor next to the bed. Aric crawled to the edge and lied down on his stomach.

“I did not mean to ignore you, you know,” he said. “It’s just that… you never… talked to me. I thought you didn’t like me.”

Nacius dropped his head. “I was just nervous.”

“Nervous? Why would you be nervous?” chuckled Aric.

Nacius simply shrugged. “I thought you were like the other boys. They don’t like me.”

“They don’t know you.”

Nacius looked up at the other boy then. “And you do?”

“I know more than they do, right? I know you eat a lot of sugar at home.” He grinned, and Nacius did too. “And anchovies.”

“My Father likes them. Well, I do too.”

“See. And I know your hand glows. For whatever reason.” He sat up on the bed and slouched. “I am sorry about your house.”

Nacius shrugged again.

“Do you know where you would stay until it’s rebuilt?”

Nacius swallowed and licked his lips. “We’re leaving.”

Aric did not reply immediately. And when he finally did, he only said, “Oh.” He rose from the bed to put a shirt on. Then he walked over to the window. “When?”

“Soon, I reckon,” said Nacius.

“Where are you going?”

“Auvradevas.”

Aric turned and faced Nacius like he really did see a ghost this time. “You are not serious.”

Nacius stood up. “I am,” he said.

“You are… going to Auvradevas?” said Aric breathlessly. “That is… exciting.”

“It is?”

Aric leaned against the window and looked up at the ceiling of his room. “I wish I could leave this place, too.”

“But you have to look after your father’s shop and… marry the beautiful Gretchen.”

Aric smiled sadly. “Yes. You do not want my problems.”

Nacius chuckled at that and crossed the room. He stopped when he realized that he was about only a foot away from reaching Aric.

“This is for the better,” said Nacius.

Aric’s eyebrows met each other in a frown. “What do you mean?”

“You and I… will never have become friends,” he said. “At the end of the day, I’m still a freak and you are…” _beautiful._ He sighed. “meant for better friendships.”

As he turned around to leave, Aric seized his arm. “Is it _friendship_ that you seek with me?”

Nacius must have looked miserable because Aric released his arm and turned away. “I should go.”

“Yeah, you should,” the other boy muttered, glancing out the window.

Nacius did not wait a moment longer as he wandered out of the room. He paused at the door, however, to look back at Aric one last time.

Aric did not look at him as he kept staring out the window.

With a heavy heart, Nacius quietly made his way out of the house.

It was never meant for this life. Nacius’ love for Aric would never triumph in this life. It had failed. Miserably so. It had failed the very day Nacius found out that he was in love with the boy.

Perhaps in another life…

Perhaps in that life, Nacius would fight for his love even at the cost of anything.

* * *

Jongin roused in the middle of the night to find his husband at the foot of the bed applying the soothing salve on his foot.

“Adrian,” Jongin rasped, trying to retrieve his foot from the Godblood. “You don’t have to.”

“I have done this before, remember?” said Adrian with an easy smile as he gently rubbed the salve on the scorched sole of his foot.

Jongin remembered it all right. Adrian used to stay up at night to rub salves and oils on Jongin’s swollen ankles when he was still carrying Nacius. When it became too heavy for Jongin to walk on his own – his ankles would hurt terribly – Adrian carried him everywhere he wanted to go.

It was then when Jongin remembered that he not told his husband about the child he was carrying now.

He swallowed hard, realizing that this was not a good time. With everything that had happened. And what if Adrian thought this was just a ruse Jongin had conjured to stop the man from going to Auvradevas? Of course, Adrian would not think that, but Jongin could not help but wonder.

He stilled when Adrian pressed his lips to the sole of the foot. “I am very sorry,” he whispered in the dark. “For the thoughtless, unforgivable things I said that night.”

Jongin pulled his leg away and grabbed Adrian by the collars of his borrowed shirt before drawing the man onto the pallet. “You were grieving,” he said. “I should have known better than to push.”

Settling on the small pallet, Adrian enveloped Jongin in his arms and held him close. “Forgive me, my love,” he said. “Even though I would never forgive myself for hurting you with my words.”

Jongin snuggled close until there was no space left between them. “Shh,” he hushed the man. “There is no point weeping and wailing over something that has already happened.”

If only he were not a hypocrite and were good at taking his own advice…

“We have a long journey ahead of us,” said Adrian.

“Have you… told Nacius?”

“Yes,” sighed the Godblood. “He will be all right. He is a strong boy. Stronger than both of us, I’d wager.”

Jongin believed that. “He has a lot of good in his heart,” he whispered. “I will not keep him from greatness too if he is destined for it.”

Adrian was silent for a moment. “You haven’t kept me from greatness, Jongin. You… saved me from heartache and an eternity filled with nothingness. I may have been a God, but I would have been hollow, empty without you.”

Jongin nuzzled against Adrian’s chest. “I do not want the future to part us,” he muttered.

“I will not let it happen.”

“What if it isn’t up to you?”

“Then I will die trying. As always.”

Jongin wrapped his arms around Adrian and clenched his hands around the man’s shirt at the back.

Their journey back to Auvradevas would begin tomorrow. It would reopen many closed wounds. It would pave the path to one of their demises. Adrian was determined to save the Nine Realms once again, and Jongin was determined to keep him alive this time.

END OF BOOK ONE


	2. Chapter 2

# B O O K T W O

* * *

# P R O L O G U E

**Somewhere in the Second Realm, Year 5154, 19 th Merdag**

Jongin tried not to think much about his lurching stomach or his spinning head. After weeks – though it felt like _months_ – at sea, he thought that he would appreciate the solid ground again. But the roofless carriage, which constantly jerked back and forth, made him miss the ship that had taken them all the way to the Second Realm.

“Are you all right, Pa?” inquired Nacius from the other side of the carriage. Jongin looked up at him briefly before glancing away. The vast barren fields on either side did not make for a very exciting view.

“Yes,” he managed to get out. “Why do you ask?”

Nacius arched an eyebrow. “Because you look like you are turning green.”

“Nonsense,” muttered Jongin before clenching his eyes again.

Adrian was far too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice Jongin’s sickness. Not that Jongin could blame him. A lot had happened in the past few weeks. It was a lot for all of them. Especially Nacius, who had to leave everything he knew behind and embark on a very unexpected journey with his parents.

Right now, Adrian was staring at the same barren fields with a grouchy frown on his forehead, which had been there since they left Vaelthe.

Jongin still had not found the right time to tell his husband that he was carrying their second child. Adrian was not in the right state of mind to be happy about it, and Jongin wanted this to be a happy occasion. He did not want to be another ‘bad news’ or fire for the man to put out at the moment, in case Adrian did not want another child.

 _Well, if he does not, then he should have been more careful and have had some self-control that night_ , Jongin mused to himself begrudgingly, scowling at his clueless husband on the other side of the carriage. He fought the urge to hurl something at Adrian’s head. He knew it would be counterproductive.

“It all makes sense now,” said Nacius after a long stretch of silence among them. He made sure that his voice was low enough to not to catch the carriage driver’s attention.

“What does?” asked Adrian.

Nacius heaved a sigh. “You.”

That made his father stare at the boy. “What do you mean?”

“Why you attacked Maron and the rebels that day,” replied Nacius. “Why you were so offended on behalf of the Auvrans.”

Adrian did not look like had a response to that, so he stayed mum.

Nacius continued. “Why did you leave?”

Jongin had left that part out. Nacius had been keeping to himself the last couple of weeks, brooding or sulking in some corner of the ship. Even when Jongin tried to talk to him, his responses were lacklustre. He missed something terribly back in Vaelthe.

Jongin would miss it all, too. The peace, the quiet, even though deep down, he had always known that none of those things would last forever. But as long as he had his family, it would be all right.

“Why did I leave?” said Adrian.

“Yes,” replied Nacius, as though he were losing his patience. “Why did you leave Auvradevas? Why did you renounce your… godship? I still can’t believe that any of this is even real.”

Adrian rubbed his forehead that was wrinkled with worry. He looked up at Jongin then.

Sighing, Jongin said, “Because of me.”

“And you,” Adrian added, looking to Nacius. “And me. I wanted… the both of you more than anything else. The only way for me to have you two was to forgo everything I had and was.”

Nacius dropped his head, louring at the floor of the carriage. “I didn’t think there could be any man in this world who would give up so much and such power for anything.”

“Well,” said Jongin. “Your father is not just _any man._ ”

“And when you are older,” said Adrian, draping an arm around his son’s shoulders. “you will understand what truly matters in life. It is not power or fame or glory or gold.” He glanced to Jongin once more with the sort of tenderness that made Jongin’s heartbeat faster.

“You’d give up anything for family and the ones you love,” said Jongin, and Adrian’s eyes were suddenly sheening with guilt.

Nacius looked like he was lost in his own thoughts for a moment. Then meeting his father’s gaze once more, he asked, “What are you going to do now?”

Although it was clearly a question Adrian did not have an answer to, he attempted to answer it, nonetheless. “I am going to protect us,” he said.

“Why does it have to be you?” asked Nacius, frowning. Jongin was instantly reminded of the time he had asked Adrian the same question.

“Because only I can do it,” said Adrian.

“You don’t know that,” muttered Nacius, hanging his head. Adrian said nothing more to console his son. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did you keep me in the dark for so long?”

Jongin answered this question. “Because we wanted a peaceful life for you. But we were naïve to believe that we could keep you from the truth and the dangers that come with it.”

Nacius’ expression hardened. “You should have told me the truth,” he murmured before falling silent, glancing away.

Jongin did not tell the boy how terrified he was of Zhesaris taking him away. She had not come for him. Perhaps she never would. Perhaps Jongin’s fear was nothing but irrational paranoia.

They still had plenty to discuss, and Nacius had countless more questions about everything. But it would all be saved for another time.

* * *

# C H A P T E R O N E

They were approaching a small village. The signboard read, ‘Millwood’.

They soon arrived at an inn where they promptly climbed out of the carriage and paid the carriage driver before they collected their belongings, which weren’t many after the fire.

It was a small inn, but it looked decent enough. The innkeeper jumped from behind the counter when the door creaked open to reveal her new customers.

“Welcome,” she chimed, looking both surprised and delighted. “Bed and food for three?”

“Just one room would suffice,” Adrian said gruffly. “And your heartiest dinner.”

“Coming right away,” said the innkeeper, ushering them to one of the few rooms she had after she had collected her payment for a night’s stay. “Our finest.”

It was nothing more than a shabby space with two pallets on the floor and a washbasin.

“The loo’s just back outside,” said the innkeeper, smiling. “I’ll get the food ready.”

* * *

Jongin could not stop staring at his husband, who was guzzling the sixth tankard of cheap mead like he was not expecting to see a tomorrow. He took another bite of the sad, limp boiled carrot before saying, “You should perhaps slow down.”

Adrian must not have heard him because he kept going, looking at nothing but the contents of his tankard.

Even Nacius had begun to notice his father’s odd behaviour.

Jongin sighed, looking to the only other table at the inn that was occupied. The two men who sat there would occasionally look their way before discussing their curiosity in hushed tones.

“Where are you lot from, then?” the innkeeper inquired when she returned to their table to refill Adrian’s tankard for the seventh time.

“An insignificant fishermen village,” Jongin answered. “in the Fourth Realm.”

Nacius huffed heavily then, clenching his jaw, trying very hard to keep his scowl away from Jongin.

“You have travelled far,” said the innkeeper. She was a pleasant enough woman in her late forties, perhaps. “Where are you heading?”

“We’re–”

Before Jongin could answer, Adrian said, “Not really your business now, is it?”

Jongin blinked at the Godblood.

The innkeeper winced and wended her way back to the counter without another comment.

“Why did you speak to her that way?” Jongin hissed to his husband.

Adrian was clearly not drunk. He could not get drunk from just seven tankards of mead. He was no ordinary man.

“Well, it _wasn’t_ her business,” said Nacius, grumbling.

“And what is the matter with you?” asked Jongin, turning to his son. “You have been moping all evening. Nay, all week.”

Nacius finally turned the scowl to him. “ _Why_? Really, Papa?” He shot up from the table and marched off with his hands fisted at his sides.

Sighing, Jongin asked, “Where are you going?”

“To get some air,” Nacius replied through his teeth.

Jongin took a moment to breathe before he looked up at Adrian again. “I know that you are anxious,” he said in a low voice. “I am, too. More than I can tell. The closer we get to Auvradevas, the more afraid I am, Adrian. Not just of Iarund, but of… Auvradevas and what awaits us there. How it’s going to change everything… change you.”

Adrian closed his eyes. “I told you,” he said quietly, as though he were refraining himself. “Nothing is going to change.”

“Yes, you told me that,” said Jongin. “But you cannot possibly believe that will be true. So much has already changed, Adrian. Just in the last one week.”

Pulling back a little, Adrian scrubbed his face and beard, exhaling heavily. “We haven’t heard anything since Vaelthe,” he mused, and Jongin could not tell if he were talking to himself.

“About… Iarund?”

“My father.” He looked sad then. Jongin reached for his hand, but Adrian pulled it away. Even after years of loving and cherishing and sharing a life together, Adrian did not feel comfortable being vulnerable.

“I’m going to… go look for Nacius,” Jongin said before walking out of the inn. Adrian did not ask him to stay.

The night air was cool, though not as cool as Vaelthe’s. The village as quiet as any other in the dark. No one was out on the streets except for a few men who were sauntering towards the inn.

Nacius had not wandered too far before Jongin found him, perched on the edge of a well, brooding. He did not look up even as Jongin leaned against the well beside him.

“I know you are upset,” Jongin started gently. “I would be too if I had to… if I were _forced_ to leave my home and everything I knew.”

“It’s not just that,” muttered Nacius. “I have always been an outsider. I didn’t know why I could never belong. I was so… lost sometimes. A few weeks ago, I was just a confused little freak. And now suddenly, I find out that I’m part God, and I’m… the son of the _Prince_ of Auvradevas and there are dragons and other Godbloods hunting my family. While I understand why you didn’t tell me, I just wonder if… things would have been easier for me if you had.”

Jongin’s face fell. “I’m sorry,” he let out. “You should have known who you are. We thought that hiding the truth would protect you. And we want to protect you for as long as we can, Nacius.”

Nacius took a deep breath. “He is a… God. A hero. How can I ever match _that_?”

“Oh, Nacius,” rasped Jongin. “Seven knows your father has his faults. No one is expecting you to follow in your father’s footsteps. You are your own person. You are not your father. You are not me. You are you. You choose your own calling.”

“My calling is nowhere near as important as Father’s now, is it?”

Jongin had never been at a loss for words as he was right now. “What… do you think your father’s calling is?”

“Isn’t obvious, Papa?” said Nacius, frowning at Jongin. “He can try and run away from his destiny, but he can’t avoid it, can he? Based on what you told me, it seems like the Seven are punishing him – and _us_ – for forsaking his calling.”

“That isn’t true,” said Jongin.

“What about the man who came looking for Father? What if he is more powerful than you think?”

“Your father is stronger,” said Jongin, though very unconvincingly.

“He is old,” scoffed Nacius. “What if he can’t fight this… Godblood? What if… I can’t help him?”

“We don’t expect you to,” Jongin said sternly. “Nacius, look. You will stay out of this. This isn’t _your_ fight.”

“It’s my _father’s_ fight,” argued Nacius. “Should I just stand on the side-lines and watch?”

“You don’t know what Adrian is truly capable of. Not yet. So, don’t worry. He is so much stronger than you think, Nacius. And we can trust him. I have always trusted him. There are few things in this world that can faze him.”

“Like what?”

Jongin shrugged. “Like the time when you were two years old and accidentally pricked your finger on a thorn in the garden and your Father ripped my favourite rosebush from the ground, completely rooted it out, in a rage. He spent the rest of the evening babying you on his lap, as if you had lost an entire arm. Then later that night, he went on and on about how… no matter how hard he tried, he can’t stop the world from hurting you. All for a _thorn._ ”

They smiled at each other. “Really?” asked Nacius.

“Yeah. He is… very protective of us.”

“Aren’t we his biggest weakness, then?”

Jongin’s eyebrows furrowed. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “But we have to try and be his strength now.”

Nacius fell silent for a moment. “How did you two really meet? I know that you were lying to me back then.”

Jongin heaved a sigh. “How we met… Well, that’s a... complicated story. Let’s save it for a different evening, shall we? It’s been a long day.”

“Fine,” the boy agreed. “But can you at least tell me… when this is all over, will we go back to Vaelthe?”

Jongin stared at his son. “I should like to hope so,” he said faithfully. “But… do you _wish_ to return?”

Nacius licked his lips and fretted for a beat. He refused to meet Jongin’s gaze, and there was some coyness to it. “I suppose,” he said. “One day.”

“But you just told me that you did not feel like you belonged there. Is there perhaps… someone you miss?”

The boy gripped his hands tightly around his knees. “Nay,” he said a while later.

Jongin smirked. “Speaking of keeping secrets,” he said, rubbing his son’s back.

Exhaling heavily and fidgeting with the laces of his shirt, Nacius murmured, “There is… someone I would like to see again.”

Jongin nodded. Even though he so terribly wanted to know the details of his son’s first love, he did not press the boy for more. “You will,” he said instead, reassuringly. “It’s good to cling onto a hope like that. It will help you get through all your obstacles. And in case you need to talk about it, I’ll always be here for you.”

Nacius’ lips quirked into a very faint smile. “Thanks, Papa.”

“Now, let’s get back. You should get some sleep.”

When they returned to the inn, Adrian was still at the table, knocking back another tankard of mead.

“Should we–” Nacius began, but Jongin halted him.

“I got this,” he told his son. “You go to bed.”

Nodding, Nacius wended his way to their rented room while Jongin walked over to the table, huffing exasperatedly.

“Are you finished?” he asked his husband, who was refusing to look up at him.

The inn was a little more crowded now. The three men Jongin had seen outside earlier were seated at a nearby table, paying Adrian no mind as they quietly partake their drinks. They looked like travellers, clad in cloaks, carrying satchels and knapsacks.

Sitting down, Jongin stared at the Godblood for a while. “Adrian–”

Before he could try and convince the man to come to bed, the three travellers rose from their table and briskly made their way to the counter. Their sudden presence startled the innkeeper, who flinched back and blinked at them.

“What more can I get you, gentlemen?” she asked, though there was a tremor in her voice. Jongin watched eagerly. Something felt wrong.

“Well,” one of the travellers said without removing the hood of his cloak. “You can open that strongbox of yours and hand over the valuables.”

The innkeeper gaped at them in shock, and Jongin had a feeling that he was doing the same thing.

It was not unheard of, of course. Bandits and raiders often passed small, unprotected villages and towns, menacing poor, defenceless folk.

But Vaelthe was so far away from such terrors – before Iarund brought them with him – that Jongin had forgotten what it felt like. To witness injustice.

When the innkeeper did not move, one of the men pulled a dagger out of his cloak. The villagers who had been there all evening hurried out of the inn in a panic, much to Jongin’s surprise, leaving the poor innkeeper to her own defences.

“There isn’t much,” said the woman. “I have already been robbed twice recently.”

“We don’t care,” said the robber. “Just give us what we want, and we will be on our way.”

Jongin turned to Adrian, jaw loose, eyes wide. “Adrian,” he hissed at the Godblood, who was watching the entire thing with a dull look on his face and his head leaned against a hand. “Do something.”

Adrian looked to him then expressionlessly. “Not our business,” he said quietly. His voice was hoarse.

Adrian had never been one to poke his head into other people’s problems. Even when he was in Auvradevas. He was only focused on his own path to greatness. Until he met Jongin, of course.

And after moving to Vaelthe, after everything that had happened, he took less and less interest in anybody’s affair but his own. While Jongin had appreciated his effort – or the lack thereof – back then, it would not be right to let the poor woman be robbed when they could help.

With a heavy sigh and eyes glistening with tears, the innkeeper started to empty her strongbox.

Jongin glanced to Adrian again with clenched fists and jaw. Realizing that the Godblood was not going to budge, Jongin shot up from the bench and started toward the bandits.

“Leave her alone,” he said, huffing furiously.

The three men turned around and faced him with similar confused expression. “Are you talking to us?” one of them asked, almost snorting.

“You best look away and pretend like you saw nothing, duckling,” another said, brandishing the dagger in his hand.

There was no way Jongin could take on all three of them. But when had that ever stopped him?

He’d take at least one of them down with him.

He was not thinking about his own safety or the consequences when he picked up the empty tankard from the countertop and smashed it against one of the bandits’ head. It was enough to stagger him and startle the rest.

The innkeeper stepped away from the counter, gasping.

Jongin should not be asking for trouble, especially now. But when had he ever sat by idly while the malicious preyed on the innocent?

“Why you little–!” the man Jongin had just attacked yapped before he snatched the dagger from his crony and lunged forward.

Jongin tried to think of a counterattack, but it was too late. His back was already pressed against the counter. He would not be able to dodge the blow that was coming for him.

He clenched his eyes, bracing himself, even though part of him believed that he would not get hurt.

And he was right. When he opened his eyes again, Adrian was standing between him and the bandits, his hand clamped around the bandit’s wrist.

He barely gave the robber any time to react as his grip tightened around the man’s wrist. Squealing and wincing, he dropped the dagger, which Adrian caught with his free hand before it could hit the ground.

Flipping it, he then lifted the dagger to the bandit’s throat while his other hand released the wrist to grab another man’s neck. The third bandit quickly retreated with his mouth hanging open.

“I am going to give you a head start,” said Adrian, his voice a low growl. “If you’re still here on the count of three, I will kill you. If you crossed my path again, I will kill you. And if you ever come around here again, I… will… kill you. Do I make myself clear?”

The three men took his threat very seriously. They had to. He was twice their size, and he wielded the strength of an elephant. The only one who was usually never afraid to challenge him, or his threats, was Jongin.

But then again, one could argue that Jongin had never feared for his life and that he might even enjoy seducing death by testing Adrian’s patience and self-restraint since the day of their very first meeting many years ago.

He released the men and watched them scurry out of the inn like they were on fire. Then sighing, he turned around to pin Jongin with a frown.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, and it sounded like he was scolding Jongin.

“What you weren’t going to do,” replied Jongin, scowling back.

Adrian opened his mouth to disagree but closed it again with a lockjaw as he glanced to the innkeeper.

Shaking his head, he then stormed out of the inn, too.

Jongin let his shoulders slouch tiredly.

“Thank you,” the innkeeper said. “You should not have gotten yourself in trouble, though. This happens all the time. I’m used to it.”

Jongin gave her a sympathetic nod. “But it shouldn’t happen. I am sorry this keeps happening to you.”

She shrugged, wiping the sweat on her forehead. “I think you are very brave. Braver than… he is.”

Jongin smiled and chuckled lightly. “Then you are very mistaken.”

“No one has stood up for me like that before.” She was moved to tears for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. You can stay here as long as you want. I will not charge a thing.”

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary,” said Jongin. “Thank you. I will, um, get some rest now.”

He did not wait for Adrian to return, although he was unable to fall asleep immediately on a cold, empty pallet. He made sure that Nacius was comfortably tucked in a blanket before he settled on the other pallet and waited for sleep to claim him.

* * *

Adrian still had not returned when Jongin roused in the morning. He was surprised to find Nacius already up and about, seated at a table, stuffing a hunk of ryebread into his mouth while the innkeeper entertained him with the village’s latest gossips.

“I am pretty sure he is fooling around with Stephan’s woman,” said the innkeeper as she swept the floor with a worn-out broom. “That isn’t even the strangest scuttlebutt going around the last couple of weeks.”

“What do you mean?” asked Nacius.

The innkeeper paused to lean against her broom and when she spoke again, she kept her voice low. “Have you heard the Auvran King is dead?”

Nacius slowly chewed his food, bowing his head.

“And there have been all sorts of rumours circling his death,” said the innkeeper.

“Like what?”

“That he was assassinated. And ever since, there have been several sightings of – I can’t even believe I’m saying this – a Wyvern. Travellers say that some people have seen something big and monstrous in the sky at night.”

“A… Wyvern,” echoed Nacius. “Do you believe that it’s true?”

The woman shrugged. “I remember the last time Wyverns were here. I did not encounter any of them first-hand, but I’ve heard all about their terror and their destruction before they left.”

“Why did they leave?”

The innkeeper smiled then. “My mother told me that it was the God Adrago who defeated the Wyvern Deathlord, the leader of the Wyverns. He saved us all.”

Nacius’ eyebrows furrowed together. “And he hasn’t shown up since?”

The innkeeper laughed. “He is a God. I reckon he has more important things to attend.”

“Good morning,” Jongin announced his presence before he took his seat across his son at the table. “Did you sleep well?”

Nacius shrugged in response, his mouth still full of food.

“What can I get you, pumpkin?” the innkeeper asked.

“I’m good. Thank you,” said Jongin. He did not have the appetite to eat anything yet.

“What happened after the Wyverns left?” Nacius asked the innkeeper, even though he had already heard another version of the story from Jongin.

“Well, people slowly started to forget about them. And those from the other realms even disputed that such a thing had ever happened. They doubted that Wyverns even existed. They say that the God Adrago was nothing but a propaganda the Auvrans spread. A false gospel.”

“But isn’t,” said Nacius. “People have seen those Wyverns and Adrago, haven’t they?”

“Only in the First Realm. It is their word against the rest of the world now, isn’t it?” she replied. “I, however, believe that it had all happened.”

“Have you seen your father this morning?” Jongin interrupted.

Nacius shook his head. “Haven’t _you_ seen him?”

“Nay,” muttered Jongin, sighing.

“That man,” the innkeeper said with a cocked brow as she paused her sweeping. “He is your father?”

Nacius stared at Jongin for a moment before he told the innkeeper, “Yes.”

“That makes sense. You have his eyes. Unforgettable is what they are. What about you, then? Are you brothers? I see the resemblance.” she asked Jongin, and Nacius snorted out a chuckle.

“Nay,” said Jongin, blushing. “We are not brothers.”

Nacius was finding the entire exchange very amusing. Thankfully, the inn’s door swung open and Adrian stepped in, looking groggy.

“I got us two horses,” he told Jongin and Nacius before he marched off to their rented room. “Be prepared to leave in a while.”

Jongin rose and followed his husband into the room. “You did not sleep again,” he said, almost accusingly, as he shut the door behind him. He watched the Gobdlood remove his shirt and lean over the washbasin to splash some water onto his face.

Without turning around to face Jongin, Adrian dried his face with a rag before he started rummaging through knapsack for his only other shirt.

“Adrian,” called Jongin, crossing the small room. He gently grabbed one of Adrian’s arms and stopped him. “What is going on? You cannot keep shutting me out.”

“I’m not,” said Adrian. “I just have a lot on my mind right now. Things you cannot help me with.”

“Don’t you at least want to talk about them?”

“Nay,” said Adrian sternly before his expression softened. “I should not have behaved the way I did last night. I am sorry about that.”

Jongin lowered his gaze. “You are hurting. You are nervous. I understand. But you are not alone.”

“Yes, I know,” said Adrian, his grievous eyes meeting Jongin’s briefly before he pulled the shirt on and started for the door. “That is what I’m worried about.”

* * *

Jongin shared a horse with his son, and they took turns with the reins.

“Did you know they call you Adrago,” said Nacius as they approached a wide stone bridge that arched over a river. “No one even says your real name anymore.”

Jongin tightened his hands around the reins, glancing to the Godblood. It was hard to see his expression under the shadow of his hood.

“Because they are not supposed to,” said Adrian. “It was my calling. It was who I’m expected to be. Everyone believes that that is who I am now. When Adrianus died, Adrago was born. No one remembers the dead for too long.”

“So, they worship the God you have become – or supposed to have become – and forgotten the warrior you were,” said Nacius.

Adrian did not answer.

“It has been sixteen years,” Nacius spoke again. “Do you think anyone would even remember you?”

“I don’t know.”

They said nothing more to each other. It was clear as day that Nacius was as nervous as his father was. Where they were going, it was a whole new world for the boy.

The next town they stopped at for rest was a big one, well-populated and ridden with Auvrans. The guards stopped them at the gate.

“State your business, travellers,” one of them demanded.

“Just looking for a place for respite,” answered Adrian.

“Which realm do you hail from?”

“Fourth.”

“Are you carrying any weapons with you?”

“Nay.”

After a few more probing questions and a lazy frisk search along with a small amount of unnecessary payment, they were allowed to enter the town.

Nacius looked at everything they passed with great intrigue.

“I’ve never seen buildings so tall,” he let out behind Jongin.

“Wait until we arrive at Auvradevas,” said Jongin, smirking faintly.

There were more Auvran guards on patrol than Jongin had expected, even though they were now only a day’s ride away from the capital. The streets were surprisingly not bustling with townspeople. Most of the shops and stalls were closed. All doors and windows were barred shut.

A tavern was fortunately open. After hitching their horses, they made their way into the empty tavern, where the tavernkeeper welcomed them with a dull greeting.

“What can I get you?” he asked. “Anything to eat?”

“Yes, please,” said Jongin. Adrian looked a little distracted.

“Sit. I will bring you some food and something to wash it down.”

As they took their seat at a table, Adrian continued to stare out the window with a concerned frown.

“Here you go,” the tavernkeeper said, laying out two trays full of cold braised pheasant and pickled beetroots along with a jar of mead.

“Where is everyone?” Adrian asked all of a sudden.

The tavernkeeper exhaled heavily. “In their homes,” he said begrudgingly. “The whole town saw a dragon fly across the sky last night. Now, everyone’s terrified.”

Both Jongin and Nacius gasped lightly.

“Where was it heading?” Adrian asked, shoulders squaring.

“No clue whatsoever,” said the tavernkeeper. “It was dark. They saw it first a moon ago. In the capital.”

Adrian closed his eyes momentarily.

“If those damned creatures are back, it can’t be good for my business,” said the tavernkeeper.

“You don’t sound as worried about your own safety,” said Jongin.

The tavernkeeper shrugged. “I was a little boy when I first saw a Wyvern. It was from very far away, but I remember how terrifying it was. If they really are back, then I expect Adrago to save us again. Clearly, he’s failed to drive them away the first time. He owes us.”

Jongin was not sure if it were fair for him to feel as offended as he did. He glanced at Adrian, who had gone silent again. “Gods do not owe us anything. And we cannot always rely on Them to come to our rescue,” he told the tavernkeeper.

“The Wyverns are the Gods’ doing, aren’t they?” the man scoffed. “It is none of our concern. The God Adrago, the slayer of Zairvoth, will save us all.”

“He sounds optimistic,” Nacius muttered under his breath once the tavernkeeper had wandered away. “Father?”

Adrian slowly faced his son.

“Do you think you can fight a Wyvern again?” asked Nacius.

Adrian sighed and rubbed his weary eyes. “I do not know,” he said in a low voice. “Not as… Adrianus. I died many years ago, trying to defeat a Wyvern. I did not defeat Zairvoth. Like he said, Adrago did.”

“You _are_ Adrago,” said Jongin.

“Nay, I’m not,” argued Adrian, although he suddenly sounded very fatigued. “He was a God. He _is_ a God to these people. I am just a mortal man now, with the blood of a God. The closer we get to Auvradevas, the more I’m starting to wonder if this is some sort of a trap.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jongin, but Adrian did not elaborate.

Later, when Nacius had excused himself to use the loo, Jongin followed his husband out of the tavern to tend to their horses.

“You haven’t been yourself for a while now,” Jongin pointed out. Adrian stopped untying his horse’s reins around the post to look at Jongin, who was slowly carding his fingers through the other horse’s mane.

“What does that mean?”

Jongin licked his lips. “Since… Iarund. Since leaving Vaelthe. You have been distracted and angry and tense. You wouldn’t sleep with me. You wouldn’t even let me ride with you. You haven’t kissed me in weeks.”

Adrian stared at him like he was in shock, which was probably good news. But Jongin’s chest felt so heavy that he spent all of his remaining strength on stifling a sob.

“That isn’t true,” breathed Adrian.

“Yes, it is,” muttered Jongin, blinking against the tears in his eyes. “And no matter how much I try, you do not wish to speak with me anymore. All of this is very hard for me too, Adrian. But instead of being there for each other, I feel your pulling away from me.”

“My pulling away from you?” Adrian huffed and started towards Jongin before he halted in his tracks, noticing the Auvran guards coming their way.

Jongin turned away from the Godblood and pretended to be busy with feeding the horse.

Leaving Vaelthe was the only logical course of action. But Jongin still greatly regretted it. He would give anything to return to the life he had with Adrian and Nacius a month ago. Perhaps he still could. But only if he did not lose Adrian in the process.

He knew that he needed to be as understanding and supportive as he could. He needed to be Adrian’s pillar right now, but it wasn’t easy. Especially considering his current condition. Adrian was not giving Jongin any opportunity to tell him.

And he most certainly could not keep it under wraps for much longer. Perhaps a month or two, if he were lucky.

Once Nacius returned, they mounted their horses again. This time, Jongin decided to ignore Adrian’s gaze, that was imploring him to ride with him, and settled on the back of the horse behind his son.

* * *

# C H A P T E R T W O

**Auvradevas, Year 5154, 20 th Faandag**

The blistering heat was all too familiar, but it was not welcoming. Jongin’s heart was pounding in his chest as flashes memories – good and bad, mostly bad – flooded his head. The burning sun made everything yellow and red to the view. Jongin had forgotten just how overwhelming a city this big, populated and chaotic was.

Nobody paid them any heed as they slowly rode along the bustling streets. The Auvrans, big and clunky, gracelessly carried on with their daily lives.

There were more buildings than Jongin remembered. Everything was packed so close together that the surrounding made his head spin and breathing hard. Many of the towers and shophouses seemed new. There were walls and towers still under construction all over the city. Large machines that resembled oversized and overcomplicated arbalests stood in every corner of the street, armed with terrifying broadhead iron arrows that were nearly as big as javelins. The ends of iron arrows were attached to iron chains. Bored-looking guards were stationed near every one of those weapons. Clearly, measures were being taken following the rumours about the Wyvern.

He had not had much of a chance the last time he was in the city to explore it. The only time he had ever gotten to see the city was on his birthday many years ago, when Prince Evzenius snuck him out of the palace.

Jongin’s heartbeat quickened a little at the fond memory he still very much cherished to this date. A flirty yet kind smile, a generous intent, a sympathetic heart, a handsome face, a strapping physique, a fleeting kiss, a few witty exchanges… he remembered them all.

What could the years have done to Evzen, Jongin wondered. He was the King of Auvradevas now, no doubt. But would he still be the same man, who had grown up in the shadow of his mighty brother, whose light was always outshone by another, who had earned a name for his carefree libertine lifestyle? Who would the years have turned Prince Evzenius into? Did he ever find his happiness?

Nacius yanked the reins to halt the horse all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong?” inquired Jongin. The instant he opened his mouth, he tasted the dust and sand in the windless air.

“Whoa,” let out Nacius, gazing ahead, past all the tall buildings and scuttling carriages. “Is that the… palace?”

Beyond the city stood the palace, as regal and colossal as ever. Jongin felt his throat close around a thick, unswallowable lump. Everything that had happened there felt like a horrible nightmare that he did not want to remember but was forced to relive, anyway.

Nothing much had changed about the Auvrans, which did not come as a surprise to Jongin. The Auvrans had been and would always be stuck to their boorish, uncivilized ways. Even nearly two decades later. Some of the Auvran commoners in Jongin’s eyeline dressed a little more sophisticatedly now, but they still stomped everywhere like brutes and shouted at one another like oafs. The racket of the city was deafening.

There was heavy guard everywhere Jongin looked. City guards were stationed on every tower, armed and armoured.

“I’ve never… seen a palace like that before,” exhaled Nacius in awe. “I’ve never seen any palace before.”

Jongin harboured both good memories and bad from that palace. It was the place that had kept him a captive, a servant for a long time. It was the place where he had encountered countless horrors and pain. It was the place where he had lost a good friend.

But it had also been the place where he had met the love of his life. The place where he had made other friends. He remembered Riolda, the young girl Diante, even Eudora, who was not really a friend. He remembered Helathor, the old scholar, a fellow Alsiramene, who had very kind to Jongin from the first day. He was not sure if the old man was even alive now.

He remembered how he had met Awyen, a beautiful, youthful, brilliant scholar from Othadia, who was exiled from his homeland. The boy had always been gentle and respectful to Jongin. It had come as a bit of a shock to him when he found out that the boy had eloped with the King’s Guard, Zayrse, who also happened to be Helathor’s son. They seemed to have come from two very different worlds. Zayrse was a serious man, who was unfamiliar with even the concept of smiling. Awyen, on the other hand, was a chirpy boy, full of zest and optimism. In the end, they had no option but to flee the realm.

The evening of Jongin’s first meeting with Awyen had been quite the spectacle. Jongin never had a hard time reminiscing that evening. It was filled with all sorts of humiliation, exhilaration and unbelievable happenings, involving dresses, confrontations and dragons.

He still remembered the very first words Adrian had said to him after appointing him as a page. It was just one insult after another.

 _“We are square,”_ Adrian had said, after saving Jongin from a public humiliation, which of course Jongin had been grateful for. But Adrian was never good at choosing the right words. Especially when he was nervous.

The next thing Jongin remembered was him shouting at the Godblood in disagreement, followed by a quake that shook the ground beneath him, a strong hand accidentally ripping the dress Jongin was forced to present himself in and a softer one striking the bigger man’s face in shock.

By the Seven, Jongin had been either incredibly brave or unbelievably foolish.

Perhaps he still was.

“Where do we go from here?” Nacius asked his father, who kept his head and the lower half of his face covered, looking in the direction of the palace as well.

“We will rent a room at an inn tonight,” said Adrian. “Lay low. Tomorrow, we shall head for the palace.”

“Will we be welcome there?” asked Nacius with concern.

Adrian hesitated to answer. “I… don’t know.”

Jongin was glad to get off the horse when they found a discreet inn to spend the night. Once again, he refused to accept the helping hand Adrian held out to him as he dismounted.

The inn was quite crowded. The tables were full, Auvran men and women drinking like animals, not in celebration but in exasperation.

“We are all doomed!” someone drawled.

“They have returned,” another cried. “We should all flee this godforsaken land! Go the furthest corner of the Nine Realms!”

Their drunken wailing muffled the bard’s songs and the melody of his lute in the back.

Although the news of the sighting of the Wyvern was slowly spreading to the other realms, Jongin had not seen such panic on their journey. The Auvrans were squawking as though they were readying themselves for their end.

Adrian did not remove his hood as he approached the innkeeper, who flinched a little when he looked up at the Godblood.

“Room for three for the night,” asked Adrian.

“Uh… I only got a small one available,” said the innkeeper, who quickly retrieved a key and slid it over the counter to Adrian once the man had paid the rent.

“Here,” said Adrian as he pressed the key into Jongin’s hand.

“Where are you going?” asked Jongin, frowning.

“To find the stables for the horses,” Adrian answered curtly before he hurried out of the inn. Sighing, Jongin turned to his son, who was staring at the imbibing men at a nearby table.

“This morning, I heard from a traveller saying that he saw a Wyvern fly across the realm,” said a man, nearly sobbing. “You have no idea how terrifying they truly are. I was there. When it all happened. I saw how they burned everything and everyone in their way. And not even a Godblood could stand against the biggest one of them.”

Nacius curled a hand around Jongin’s elbow, swallowing hard. “You left that part out,” he whispered to Jongin.

“What’s a Godblood?” asked a young man, his eyes wide and curious.

“There was one,” said the first man, leaning back on the bench. “A long time ago. He died and became a God, they say. Left the realms, never came back.”

“Do you mean the legend?” scoffed another young lad. He had a head of thick honey golden locks that fell over his blue eyes. “The conqueror, who everyone believed was half God, wasn’t it?”

“He was a hero,” someone else grumbled. “Never seen him personally, but I was only a boy. Heard a great deal about him, though.”

“What a bunch of bollocks,” said the golden-haired boy. “I’ve heard the stories from my mother, too. The royal family was fooling you lot. And everyone was dumb enough to not only believe them but worship them!”

“So, you do not believe in the Wyvern that everybody has been seeing?” asked the man.

“Well, _I_ haven’t seen it. But I’ve seen their scales and bones plenty to know that they are real. I just don’t believe there are Gods living among us. If they’re living among us, then they wouldn’t be Gods now, would they?”

“He was only part God. And he was the Crown Prince of Auvradevas. But I suppose, Nephew, you believe in the self-proclaimed messengers of the Gods than the mortal Godbloods.”

“I do,” said the boy. “Because the Red Knights are real.”

“Godbloods are real,” Nacius said before Jongin even knew what was happening. He took a step forward as the other boy turned to look at him with an arched brow. “The Crown Prince of Auvradevas was a Godblood.”

The boy stood up. “Were you there?”

Nacius opened his mouth and closed it again, clenching his fists. “Well, n-no. But–”

“Then how would _you_ know?” snorted the boy, eyeing Nacius from head to bottom. “Outlander.”

Nacius was about to advance another step toward the boy when Jongin caught his arm and yanked him back. “What part of lay low did you not understand, Nacius?” he quietly hissed to his son, pulling him away.

Nacius continued to glower at the blonde-haired lad, but he did not fight Jongin.

“How could people doubt his existence after all that he’s done for them?!” Nacius hissed to Jongin.

“I understand your frustration,” said Jongin. “But you can’t risk exposing your father by causing a scene right now.”

With his chest heaving, he nodded his head, turning it a little to look back at the other boy, who continued to scoff and roll his eyes at the drunk men around him.

They then proceeded up the stairs to their rented room, which was smaller than the last. Nacius had a hard time falling asleep. He continued to gaze out the window eagerly at the city that never slept.

“I can’t believe we’re so far away from Vaelthe,” the boy sighed, clinging to the window bars.

“Neither can I,” replied Jongin from where he was standing, hands submerged in the lukewarm water in the washbasin. “You ought to get some sleep, Nacius.”

“How could I possibly sleep, Papa?” he rasped. “Everything is exciting all of a sudden. And scary.”

Jongin scoffed, drying his hands on a towel. “I mostly felt the latter when I first came here.”

Nacius pulled away from the window. “Why did you come here?”

Jongin licked his lips. “Well, actually, coming here was not my decision.”

“This place is fantastic,” said Nacius. “Imagine being a God to all these people. Imagine what Father must have felt like.”

“Shush,” Jongin hushed him. “Even walls have ears, Nacius.”

“So, what?” Nacius threw his hands up. “If everything you said about him is true, shouldn’t his return be celebrated?!”

“Not if we want to go back to our old lives,” said Jongin. “Besides, Auvradevas has a new king now. And when we are done with Iarund, we go back. We do not belong here.”

Nacius blinked. “But… we do, don’t we? This is where we belong, Papa. I can feel it. I felt it the instant we entered the city.”

Jongin could not help but frown disappointedly at his son. “Listen to me. If you and your father are exposed, this will never end. More will come after you. This will never end, Nacius.”

Nacius scowled then. “Maybe it’s not supposed to end. Maybe this is my calling. This is who I am meant to be. Maybe this is what the woman from the sea has been trying to tell me.”

Jongin’s eyes widened. “What… woman from the sea?”

“The one I’ve been seeing in my dreams,” said Nacius. “It makes sense now. I don’t know who she is, or what she’s called. But she has to be related to all of this hullabaloo.”

Jongin felt his heart drop to his stomach. He crossed the room and caught his son’s arm. “The woman… When did you see her?”

“I don’t know. It’s been a while. She shows up in my dreams every now and then.”

Jongin found it difficult to breathe for a moment. “What did she tell you?!”

“That I… don’t know who I really am. Or something like that. Why? Do you know her?”

Releasing his son’s arm, Jongin plumped on the pallet and stared vacantly at the mouldy wall in front of him. “It’s your father’s birth mother.”

Nacius’ jaw fell slack. “What?”

“Zhesaris. The Goddess of Sea and Light.”

Nacius looked like he was at a loss for words for a length. Then eventually, stuttering, he asked, “What does she… want with me?”

Jongin was not sure what it was that he was feeling. Fear that Zhesaris was going to keep her word and take his son away from him. Anger that she had foisted herself on his son. Anxiety of what might come next. It was the last thing that he needed right now, in the midst of everything that was already going on.

He clasped his hands to his head, overwhelmed by everything all of a sudden.

“Papa?” called Nacius. “Are you all right?”

Shaking his head, Jongin clenched his eyes. “You should sleep. Tomorrow might be a very long day.”

He left Nacius in the room to get some air.

* * *

Whatever that he remembered of the city remained the same. It surprised him how well his memories catered the information he looked for.

From the inn, he could see the palace clearly, though it was still so far out of reach. Without doubt, he knew that Adrian was as conflicted as he was about what might happen hereafter. They did not have a solid plan.

Well, the initial plan was to go where Iarund would be. But from the looks of it, Iarund had not been here in a while. They could wait until he showed up. They had come this far. Iarund would find them when he wanted to find them. Or Adrian was right. They had walked right into his trap. In that case, they could only hope that Adrian was strong enough to protect them and defend himself.

He was leaning against a wall outside the inn when he saw the last of the drunk men wobble their way out.

“Come on, Uncle,” said the golden-haired boy from earlier, bearing most of his uncle’s weight on his shoulders. He stopped briefly to look at Jongin, who was standing in the shadows with his arms crossed over his chest. This boy looked like bad news, Jongin decided. He had a mean gaze, and a rowdy mouth. A supporter of the Red Knights, of course. And the fact that he was not so quiet or subtle about it meant this boy was all sorts of trouble.

Oh, how ironic that _Jongin_ , of all people, thought that. The prince whose attitude had him demoted and exiled from his homeland.

Just when Jongin was beginning to wonder what was taking his husband so long, he spotted Adrian in the dark, walking towards him.

He still had not removed his hood and face cover.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked nervously. “Where is Nacius?”

“Sleeping, I hope,” said Jongin, pulling away from the wall to approach his husband. “Are the horses taken care of?”

“Yes,” muttered Adrian before he withdrew a bunch of crumpled flowers from the pockets of his cloak. “I, um, got these for you. They’re not Oosredils, but they smell nice.”

Jongin stared at the flowers and then at Adrian for a length. “You got me… flowers?”

Adrian swallowed hard and licked his lips. “You don’t want them?”

Jongin quickly reached a hand out and grabbed the flowers. “Is this… meant to be a peace offering?” He buried his nose in the wrangled red petals and inhaled deeply.

Sighing, Adrian removed the face cover and closed the distance between them. “I know that I have been on edge for a while now. And it isn’t fair to you. None of this is fair to you.”

“We don’t have to do this now,” murmured Jongin. “I know you’re weary.”

Exhaling heavily, Adrian took Jongin’s hand. “I’m not trying to push you away. I promise.”

Jongin nodded softly, lowering his head.

Adrian’s hand felt rougher than usual.

“It is all too much. Being back here. And thinking about what’s going to happen next.”

“I know,” whispered Jongin.

“You’re all that I have, Jongin,” said Adrian. “And I’ve been acting like a jerk to you.”

“Well… Is there nothing _I_ can do to take the edge off?”

Adrian smirked then, and oh, how Jongin had missed that charming, easy smile. “I’m sure there are a few things you can do, but given the current circumstances, I think I ought to wait for it.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Jongin, although he was unable to stop his cheeks from growing warm. “Don’t you want to talk about it?”

“I think I would like to kiss you instead,” said the Godblood, and it instantly made Jongin blush with surprise.

“Wh-What?”

Adrian pulled Jongin to a darker corner where he promptly cupped Jongin’s face in his hands and kissed him softly, deeply. It was enough to make Jongin’s knees buckle. He fisted the flowers in one hand and Adrian’s cloak in the other, kissing his husband back fervently.

“Whoa,” breathed Adrian, breaking the kiss abruptly, much to Jongin’s dismay. “We have to stop now, or you’re going to make this very difficult for me.”

Jongin noticed Adrian’s hand that was already gripping a side of his waist. As much as he wanted some time alone with Adrian to reconnect, he knew that this was not the right time. So, he pulled away, licking his lips.

“Did anyone recognize you?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” replied Adrian, retrieving his hands from Jongin. “I highly doubt these people would remember what I looked like. Not even the statues resemble me. They look more like Adrago. Especially now that I’m ridden with grey hairs.”

Jongin mirrored Adrian’s faint smile, raising a hand to run it through his husband’s hair. “I like you like this,” he admitted quietly. “You have never been more handsome.”

Adrian wrapped his arms around Jongin when the latter leaned into him. “What were you doing outside? It’s not safe.”

Jongin pulled back when he recalled what he had been upset about. “It’s Nacius,” he said. “Zhesaris… has been coming to him in his dreams, too.”

He watched Adrian’s eyebrows knot together in a frown. “What?”

“Are you sure she hasn’t shown up in yours?”

“Nay… Nay, she hasn’t,” he said. “I don’t think she’d ever want to speak to me again.”

Jongin tried to calm his pounding heart. “I am trying to remain calm, Adrian. But it’s hard.”

“Hey, hey.” Adrian gathered Jongin in his arms again. “Don’t worry. I swore to you that I would never let her take our son from us. You know that I’d fight her if I had to.”

Jongin nodded shakily, burying his face in Adrian’s chest.

As afraid as he was, Adrian’s embrace managed to calm him, make him feel protected. Even for just one more night.

* * *

When Jongin roused in the morning, he was still lying on the cold ground, his head resting on his husband’s outstretched arm. He sat up and glanced around the room.

An instant panic rose in him when he did not find Nacius anywhere.

“Adrian,” he whispered, shaking the sleeping Godblood awake.

Stirring, Adrian groaned, eyes still tightly clenched.

“It’s morning,” said Jongin as he rose to his feet. “Wake up. I’m going to go look for our son.”

Without waiting for his husband’s response, Jongin hurried out of the room with his heart hammering in his chest. He quickly found Nacius seated at a table in the now much emptier inn, chewing on a very stale hunk of bread.

“Nacius,” he called, approaching the table. “Are you all right?”

Turning to him, Nacius said, “Yes. Why?”

Jongin licked his lips and sat down. “Did you… dream about her again?”

“Zhesaris?” asked Nacius, and hearing her name made Jongin shudder. “My _grandmother_? Nay, I didn’t. She hasn’t shown up in a while. Since we left Vaelthe, actually.”

Nacius was nearly smirking, as though he found it amusing.

“Keep your voice down,” said Jongin. “I was just wondering. Will you tell me if you see her again?”

“Why? You sound nervous, Papa. Ever since I told you about her. Are you afraid of her or something?”

Jongin heaved a sigh. “I suppose I am. In a way.”

Nacius arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I… ruined the grand plans she had for her son. She would love to get even, if given the chance.”

That made Nacius laugh. “Really? Every day, I learn something new. Something crazy. Do you think she’d hurt me?”

“I don’t know,” said Jongin. “But I would do everything in my power to keep her away from you. And you have to do the same.”

“It’s going to be a little hard to refuse a Goddess, don’t you think?”

Jongin frowned and glanced away, realizing that Nacius was not wrong. Zhesaris could be persuasive if she wanted to be. She was a Goddess after all.

* * *

The streets were filled with Auvrans. Jongin had forgotten how intimidating it really was to walk among these careless, unmannered men and women, who always pinned him an odd look when they managed to actually notice him.

Evzenius’ new reign had not made much difference. Of course, it had only been a handful of weeks since his ascension. But it was comforting to know that nothing was worse off, fortunately.

Adrian steered clear of the streets that were teeming with guards as they made their way toward the city stables to retrieve their horses before heading for the palace. Part of Jongin wondered if Adrian was simply stalling.

“Stay close,” he told Nacius, who was getting more and more distracted by everything that transpired around him.

“Trinkets and whatnots!” a vendor cried from his stall, and Nacius was veering towards it before Jongin grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

He nearly crashed against Adrian’s back when the Godblood halted in his tracks all of a sudden.

Glancing over the man’s shoulder, Jongin looked up at the towering statue made of shiny black stone. His breath caught, and his hands turned clammy.

Nacius pushed past him, jaw dropping, eyes widening. “Is that…” he trailed off in a raspy breath.

“Yes,” replied Adrian, through his mouth cover.

Nacius was unable to turn a hair for a moment. He then took a step closer to the statue to read what was inscribed on the plaque.

_Our Saviour, The God Adrago, Slayer of Zairvoth._

“That was… you?” let out Nacius in disbelief, marvelling up at the grand monument that no one else stopped to look at.

Jongin had witnessed the God first-hand. He remembered nothing but the magnificence of it all, just as the people of Auvradevas.

“Not… at all… what I expected, if I’m being honest, Father.”

Adrian tore his gaze away from the statue and sighed. “Let’s go.”

Nacius had a hard time walking away, but when he eventually managed to, he fell beside his father. “What was it like?” he asked eagerly.

Adrian thought about this question for a moment. “I don’t think I remember,” he said. “I felt powerful, of course. But I felt like a different person. I was no longer… me. No part of me was a man anymore. Just a God.”

“ _Just_ a God?” echoed Nacius, with some disbelief in his tone. “Look at these people, Father. They have statues for you. They used to worship you. If they knew that you are still alive, they’d still–”

“It does not change anything,” Adrian cut him off. “I made a promise that I will not return to that life. It isn’t me anymore.”

Nacius stopped and frowned. “Then what are we doing here?”

“Not to stay forever,” Adrian answered curtly and sharply, his eyes – which were the only part of his face that was exposed – piercing into his son’s.

“And whom did you promise that?” asked Nacius.

Adrian’s gaze darted to Jongin briefly, and Nacius’ followed.

“But why?” Nacius was now asking Jongin. “Why wouldn’t you want him to be great, Papa?”

“You’re causing a scene, Nacius,” said Jongin, as softly as he could. “Let’s not talk about this here.”

“Nay,” the boy said, scoffing. “We could have all been _somebody_.”

“Being _somebody_ is not all that matters. We are a family now, aren’t we? We have each other.”

“But this is not all that I’m supposed to be, am I?” asked Nacius, his voice now attracting the attention of some of the passers-by. “And you just kept me hidden away in some fishermen village!”

“Nacius,” growled Adrian then. Before he could get Nacius to calm down, a loud, cacophonous racket diverted everyone’s attention.

“What is going on?” said Jongin.

With his brows furrowed, Adrian looked toward where the screams were coming from.

“Help!” someone squawked in the crowd. “There are men up in the tower! Help!”

Some of the people were soon running towards one of the towers that were still under construction.

“Stand aside!” a guard bellowed, jostling through the crowd.

“Stay out of it,” said Jongin, seizing Nacius’ arm as the boy started forward.

“But I want to know what’s happening,” said Nacius before he tore his arm away from Jongin’s grip and broke into a jog with the others.

“Nacius!” Jongin cried and ran after him. He did not look back to see if Adrian followed. What was going on with that boy! Why was he acting this way all of a sudden?

While Jongin understood this all of this was a big adjustment for Nacius, he had never seen his son behaving so… belligerent. It was quite out of character.

Was it this soulless land? Was it Auvradevas that brought the worst out of everyone? If Jongin had not seen it happen to many – including himself – he might have disregarded that notion as nothing but an irrational interpretation of the situation.

Along with the racket of the squalling crowd, there was the sound of crumbling bricks, crashing onto the ground. Soon, the view turned hazy with dust. He came to a stop, coughing. Nacius had stopped, too. He was only a few feet away from Jongin, gawking up at the mostly finished tower, that was now crumbling from the base.

“Oh, Gods,” rasped Jongin, covering his mouth with a hand, eyes bulging out at the catastrophe that was unravelling before them. There were still three men in the tower – builders. Jongin vaguely remembered having seen those men at the inn last night. They were bracing themselves for the tower to collapse. It was already tilting at an angle. It would not take long before it would topple and collapse on top of the nearby buildings, taking them down with it.

The boy from last night – the one with the golden hair – shoved through the crowd and past Jongin. Looking up at the tower, he gasped. “Uncle!”

When Nacius lurched toward the tower, Jongin chased him once more. “Nacius, nay! You can’t take on _that_!” he cried at his son, almost angrily, grabbing Nacius’ shirt sleeve.

“Pa, let go!” the boy huffed. “I can handle it! I am a Godblood, aren’t I?”

There was only little that a very ordinary Jongin could do to stop his son, who shared at least part of his Godblood father’s incredible strength, when Nacius yanked his arm free and ran toward the tower once more.

“Out of the way,” Nacius spat at the guards blocking his path before he shoved them aside and climbed up the makeshift ladders that were leaning against the tower.

Jongin turned around, panting, to look for Adrian, who stood amidst the crowd, looking up at Nacius. Only his glowering amber eyes were visible behind his face cover and hood.

“Adrian,” let out Jongin, hurrying back to his side. “Do something.”

The Godblood did not take another step forward, however, in spite of Jongin tugging at his shirt. He continued to glare at his son, who was rapidly making his way up the crumbling tower.

“Who is that?” someone in the crowd gasped.

“There’s no stopping that tower from tumbling now!” a guard hollered. “Evacuate the people in those buildings!” Upon his orders, some of the guards rushed toward the nearby buildings to get the inhabitants out before the tower could collapse on top of them.

Jongin glanced back to Nacius, whose every clamber up the ladders brought the tower several feet further to the ground. If that tower toppled, it would not only demolish four other buildings, it would crush Nacius along with those three men in the tower.

Frankly, Jongin did not know just how _mortal_ Nacius exactly was. That had never been put to the test before, and Jongin never thought he would ever have to. Even Adrian had been killed once before, hadn’t he?

But then Nacius stepped off the ladder and leaped into one of the openings. The crowd gasped in unison as he grabbed one of the men with one arm before he swung out of the opening to grab onto the ladder with the other. Meanwhile, a few men on the ground spread out a canvas large enough to safely receive the weight of a man.

“Go!” Nacius yapped at the man, hastily making sure that the man had his footing on the ladder before the boy let go of him and climbed further up the tower to rescue the others.

A scream caught his attention all of a sudden, and he perked his head up to look at the man gripping onto the edge of the tilted tower.

“Uncle!” the golden-haired boy yelped.

It did not take the man too long to lose his grip, and he fell. Jongin could not help but wonder just how much time Nacius must have spent climbing trees back in Vaelthe, because he effortless leaped from one rung of the wooden ladder to the next, just in time to catch the hand of the falling man.

He groaned, teeth clenched, one hand tightly holding onto the ladder rung and the other onto the man.

As soon as the man had grabbed onto another ladder, Nacius released his hand and climbed on.

Jongin’s heart nearly fell out of his chest when Nacius then entered the top floor of the tower, looking for the final man.

“Caelan,” the man hanging onto one of the ladders called out, covered in debris and dust.

The golden-haired boy, whose name was apparently Caelan, gawked up at the tower, helplessly, his eyes shot with tears.

Jongin desperately looked at Adrian again. The Godblood removed his face cover then and pulled his hood down. His brows were furrowed deep in a fierce scowl, his jaw clenched tight. Was he really not going to do anything? Well, Nacius should have done nothing either!

Jongin only breathed again when Nacius reappeared with the third man.

The boy said something to the man and prompted him to climb down the ladder. Nodding nervously, the man shakily gripped onto the ladder and slowly made his way down. The ladder unexpectedly snapped in half, however, and the man shrieked. Thankfully, he still managed to hold onto the part the was still standing.

The base of the tower gave in then. The men screamed, struggling to make their way down the ladders.

Nacius gasped, and Jongin was pretty certain that he himself had yelped, when the tower started to tip over at a more rapid pace.

Nacius quickly grabbed onto the sides of the opening when he was lunged forward, nearly tripping out of the tower. When he tried reaching for the nearby ladder, it slipped away from his reach.

He looked a little panicked now. And Jongin’s heart was now thundering in his throat. He felt sick. His head was spinning, and without even hesitating, his feet were involuntarily moving towards the tower. There was nothing that he could do to stop a tower that big from collapsing. He neither had the might nor the time. But he was running towards his son, nonetheless.

And that was when he saw Adrian sprinting past him, though he was not running towards the tower. The crowd easily made way for him, and it did not take him long to reach one of the wagons that was holding the huge arbalests. It was unguarded. All of the guards were occupied. Some of the Auvrans were hurtling toward the tower with a vast wagon canvas.

Grabbing the iron chain, which was big enough to hold down an elephant, Adrian ripped it from its lock on the wagon with one strong tug. Then collecting the chain, he reached for the spear-like iron arrow that was linked to the chain, also locked in place on the arbalest.

What was he doing? He could not _attack_ the tower with an arrow, could he? Even if it was the biggest arrow Jongin had ever seen. He doubted that he would even be able to lift one himself.

But then Adrian bolted to the other side of the tower, away from the buildings, the chain in one hand, arrow in the other.

“Nacius!” he roared, and his voice carried past the cacophony. Nacius looked at his father, eyes widening in surprise. “Find me a gap in the back!” he said, lifting the arrow.

Nacius regarded the arrowhead briefly and nodded as though he had understood exactly what Adrian was planning on doing.

He took a few steps back into the tower and came back, yelling, “Twenty-four feet to my left, two heads lower!”

Adrian sprinted again around the tower and stopped, eyes squinting at the burning sun. He then backed up far enough before he tossed the arrow in his hand and pulled his shoulder as far back as it would go and launched the arrow toward the tower with twice the strength of one of those giant arbalests.

As the arrow shot right through the crevice in the tower’s wall with a thundering noise and stuck in place, he moved fast and grabbed the iron chain, curling it around one of his hands. Turning on his heel, he drove his feet into the ground and groaned bestially with every step he advanced with his back now facing the tower.

He was straightening the tower up…

Jongin looked to the tower’s base again. It was already caved in on one side.

“Put the ladder up!” hollered Jongin as he and a few other men hurried to stand the fallen ladder, so that Nacius could climb down now that the tower was no longer tilting over on this side. Caelan gave Jongin a hand and held the big ladder in place while the other men leaped from ladders and dived onto the canvas that was secured by about eleven men on the ground.

The tower stopped moving altogether for a moment. Adrian was holding it fast, balancing it on the few bricks that were still intact on the other side of the base.

“Nacius!” Jongin cried and the boy quickly leaped onto the ladder.

On the other side of the tower, Adrian was growling, beads of sweat trickling unchecked down his face, his hands closed tightly around the iron chain, his feet breaking the solid ground they were planted firmly in.

“Jump now!” Caelan crowed to Nacius when the latter was low enough to land safely on the canvas. Nacius glanced down at the canvas once before he let go of the ladder and leaped onto the canvas.

Jongin and the others backed away at once. Adrian then took a couple more steps forward before he stopped and gave the chain one final tug, hauling the tower down to the less inhabited side of the city, and stepped aside.

The ground quaked as the tower finally fell, bringing down a few food stalls and fences with it, but it did not cause as much disaster as it initially could have.

The crowd was silent all of a sudden. The Auvrans were gaping at Adrian now.

Jongin pulled Nacius into a ferocious embrace, crying into his shoulder, as soon as the boy had made his way out of the canvas. He pulled back immediately, however, and ran towards his husband.

“Adrian!” he gasped. The Godblood turned to him and grunted, staggering back when Jongin threw himself onto him out of nowhere. “Thank the Seven.”

“I’m all right,” huffed Adrian, burying his nose in the crook of Jongin’s neck for a moment. When Jongin reluctantly pulled away, he held his hands up a little and frowned.

“Oh, my goodness,” exhaled Jongin, grabbing his husband’s injured hands. His palms were completely bruised and the blisters on them were bleeding.

“They’ll heal,” muttered Adrian.

“Father,” Nacius called, walking up to them.

Adrian gently nudged Jongin aside and stepped up to his son. Almost instantly, the relief on his face was replaced by anger. “What were you thinking?” he spat through his teeth. “I’ll answer that for you. You _weren’t_ thinking.”

Nacius winced and his own eyebrows furrowed to resemble his father’s expression. “What? I _saved_ those people.”

“Nay. _I_ saved those people,” said Adrian, taking another step closer to Nacius. The boy did not back away. “You wanted to show off, to prove something. And that could have cost you your life.”

Nacius scoffed then. “Are you being serious? I had it under control.”

“Nay, you didn’t!” growled his father. “You must be incredibly naïve to think so!”

“Adrian,” Jongin muttered, trying to intervene, but he was not given the opportunity.

“You did not only expose us,” bayed Adrian. “You acted rashly without forethought! If only you had stopped for a moment to use your head, you would have–”

Nacius cut him off. “I cannot believe you’re disappointed! I saved those men in there, Father!” said Nacius. “If it weren’t for me–”

“The tower wouldn’t have caved that soon if you hadn’t climbed up it,” said Adrian. “And what if it had caved while you were still in there?”

“I could have taken it,” said Nacius.

Adrian clenched his fists then, his chest heaving heavily. He closed the distance between him and Nacius and looked down at his son with a grave look.

“You think you are a Godblood, who can be a God,” said Adrian. “But you are just a _boy_. And you’ve proved that today.”

Nacius’ nostrils flared, and he too had his fists balled. “Not all of us deserve to be a God. Right?”

Adrian’s breathing quickened. “Careful, boy. You do not want to face me as a God.”

“Oh, but I really do, Father,” spat Nacius. “The God who forsook it all.”

“I forsook it all for _you_!” roared Adrian, almost losing the last slivers of his temper.

“Adrian!” yapped Jongin then, shoving the Godblood back from their son. “He’s just a child.”

“Nay, I’m not,” Nacius now argued with Jongin. “I can’t believe this is what I get for trying to do something good.” Shaking his head, he turned on his heel to walk away, but he stopped when he saw the guards closing in on them with the weapons drawn.

“Who are you?” one of the guards asked, pointing the sword in Adrian’s way.

“You might want to put that down,” Adrian snarled at him.

The guard warily kept his sword up, although he looked like he was about to soil his pants. “Y-You… just…”

“We should take them to the palace,” said another guard.

Adrian’s expression eased then. “Well, why didn’t you say so... By all means,” he said, holding his wrists out as though he was willing to be shackled. “Take me to your king.”

How ironic…

He _was_ their true king.


	3. Chapter 3

# C H A P T E R T H R E E

**Auvradevas, Year 5154, 20 th Ikthadag**

“Brother,” an incensed voice called from his side. “Are you even listening?”

He wasn’t. He glanced at his frowning sister sideways with a slightly arched eyebrow. She seemed displeased. Out of all of his sisters, Cristella was the only one who took the liberty to express her difference of opinions in the matters of the sovereign.

Heaving a sigh, Evzen scratched his beard. He had not realized that the treasury minister had paused his longwinded grousing about spending ‘too much’ of the sovereign’s funds on penurious people of the realm, especially those who had been in straitened circumstances following the Red Knight’s terrorizing attacks.

“Your Majesty,” said the minister, nearly panting. “I must strongly advice you against spending our resources on the people at the moment when we should be focusing on amplifying our armoury.”

Evzen straightened up in his throne and cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind my asking, Minister,” he said with the usual tone of mockery in his voice. “Who exactly will we be protecting with all this armoury if there is no one to protect to begin with?”

The minister remained silent.

“There are people simply starving to death,” said Evzen. “Many don’t have a roof over their heads to live. They are our people, too. The Red Knights continue to terrorize all those who are loyal to the sovereign. We must do more to ensure their recovery and survival. Do as you must with the defences against the potential Wyvern attack, but do not skimp on the resources for the people.”

Although the minister did not seem satisfied, he bowed his head and took his leave.

Evzen looked at his sister, who was smiling at him now. “You are doing better than I expected, Brother,” she commented.

Rising from the throne, Evzen made his way out of the chamber. His sister followed. “I have a good council,” he said, wrapping an arm around Cristella’s shoulders. Following their father’s untimely death, Cristella placed a stronger foot in the politics of the realms than anyone would have anticipated. While all of his other sisters were married off to noblemen and princes of neighbouring lands, Cristella remained in Auvradevas all these years, learning about the monarchy, participating in their father’s court, and attending convoys. So, naturally, following the coronation, Evzen did not think twice to appoint his sister as his advisor. Although she still had much to learn, she had a good eye for politics and surprisingly a strong passion for them. It was a lot more than what Evzen could say for himself. Of course, the court had not expected it. Even though Cristella was a princess, she was still a woman in her early twenties, who had yet to find a husband. But like both her brothers, Cristella played by her own rules, which Evzen truly admired.

“You have a council better than _good_ ,” she scoffed. “But the minister isn’t entirely wrong. We should consider doing something more to improve our defences without exhausting our funds. You shouldn’t dismiss his misgivings.”

Exhaling heavily, Evzen nodded. “I know that. Call for a meeting with the Minister of Defence tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow? What are you doing today? It is still early.”

Evzen came to a stop to look at the servant boy watering the courtyard flowers. He licked his lips.

“Oh, Brother,” muttered Cristella, shaking her head in disapproval. “How long has this been going on?”

Smirking, Evzen pulled away from his sister and started towards the corridor. “Have him sent up to my chambers, will you, dear Sister?”

“I’m not doing that,” said Cristella with an unamused expression. “And you’re not having him either. Even if it’s within the palace walls, you ought to be more careful with your trysts with blokes. Don’t you think you’re a little too old for these shenanigans? Perhaps you should get married, Brother!”

Without stopping, Evzen turned to face her with his hands held up. “I could say the same of you, my dear little Crissy. Send him up. King’s orders.”

Cristella huffed exasperatedly and turned away rolled her eyes.

* * *

A lot had changed in the last few years. Evzen watched his once regal and powerful father grow old and weak right before his eyes, longing each and every day for his eldest son to return. He left his balcony doors open every night, hoping that one day, either the Goddess Zhesaris or his son would come to see him. He’d die peacefully then, he used to say.

After the death of his queen, he missed the Goddess, who bore him his first son, the mighty warrior, the unparalleled Godblood, who had brought him countless victory and won incredible conquests. Some still remembered Adrian. Many called him Adrago now. A God. No longer a Godblood.

Evzen remembered him, too. As a hero, as a Godblood, as a man with his own flaws, and as a brother he could never live up to. He had long given up on those grievances, though. There was not many who could match a God, was there? Sometimes, it was hard to believe that the man he had once called brother and shared a childhood with was worshipped as God now.

Standing on the balcony, he leaned over the railing and watched the bailey that was bustling with city and palace guards. It had been a few extremely busy and noisy weeks. Ever since the fire.

The fire…

Evzen clenched his eyes and drew a deep breath. He knew that the fire was no accident. That and the sightings of the Wyvern all added up. But there was something more. Something else. Why would a Wyvern specifically attack the King of Auvradevas? How would it even do that?

Evzen had not seen any Wyvern return first-hand, but he knew that it was no Wyvern that killed his father.

He would blame the Red Knights, but he highly doubted that those overzealous fanatics would get past the palace guards, let alone on a Wyvern. They were a scheming menace, yes. They had the potential to develop into a full-blown terrorist organization, but for now, they were still very small and very underprepared. The people had a reason to fear them, especially those who were far away from the protection of the capital. But the chances of those puerile zealots breaking into the palace on top of a Wyvern were rather slim.

Besides, if the Wyverns had returned, they would not bow to mere mortals.

So, who was it that had killed King Raagathor? Who could gain from the death of the Auvran King? Clearly, he or she was not after the throne, which was Evzen’s now. If that were the case, they would have come for him, too.

The throne that was never meant to be his. Of course, Adrian had his calling. He would be a God one day, and he would leave the Nine Realms. Evzen had not expected that day to come soon. Nobody had. Especially their father, who had hoped dearly that Adrian would sit on the throne one day and rule all the lands that he had conquered. Evzen might have hated that idea if he had not grown up believing that he stood no chance to rule the kingdom. He was third in line, after all. He had given up on the idea of becoming king since he was five.

But then all of a sudden, Adrian left, accepted his destiny and became Adrago, the God of the Seven Seas. And even though Evzen had prepared himself to ascend the throne in the inevitable event of his father’s passing, it had still come out of the blue. All his life, he had been a carefree prince, who had accepted his own calling, only to have it all upturned. All of a sudden, he was first in line.

His ascension was expected and was even bolstered, but it was not the most ideal arrangement. Not even to Evzen himself. The most he could do now was try his best to be a decent ruler.

But he knew that the throne was never his. It never felt like it was his. Not even when he got to sit on it. And to be frank, he had never been a sit-in-one-place kind of person.

The gentle knock on the door averted his attention. He turned and wandered back inside. He briefly stopped before the mirror to assess his reflection. His icy blue eyes were turning slightly weathered. The grey strands in his hair and beard suggested that he was aging. And it slightly terrified him. He saw a flash of his late father in that reflection. He would wither away on that throne, no more adventures, no more wild escapades. Now, he had more responsibilities on his shoulders than ever.

And Evzen was never one to live by anyone’s rules. No amount of preparing had readied him to rule a kingdom. He was a great warrior, one that was almost as masterful as Adrianus. He was silver-tongued – although he’d much rather use that skill in the bed rather than in the courtroom. He could charm the socks off quite literally anybody. People listened to him when he spoke because he had a way with words and charms. He was more charismatic than anyone else in the royal family. And though he was not one for vanity, he acknowledged the consensus that he had been and still was the most spoken of man in the Nine Realms when it came to bodily appearances. He was brilliant, even though he had missed most of his lessons as a young man – too busy chasing skirts, engaging in fisticuffs and things of that nature. He was humble and kind, most of the time, even when many used to think of his devil-may-care attitude rotten and lazy. And the years had only mellowed him even more, although he remained as licentious as ever.

But he was not a king.

Perhaps he might have wanted to be one at some point, but it had been very long since he had decided on another walk of life. Now, his hands were tied, and his fate had set a course much different from the one he would have liked.

“Come in,” he called out, pouring himself a much-needed tumbler of drink.

The door creaked open a little, and the servant boy entered, keeping his head hung low. In his younger days, Evzen much preferred the company of women. But over the years, his preferences had matured as did the rest of him. He had grown to love the company of men as much as he did women. Especially those who were far too beautiful to resist.

And beauty was very scarce in Auvradevas. Of course, Adrian and their father would have disagreed. They adored everything about Auvradevas, while Evzen preferred gentler and serener surroundings.

“Would you like a drink?” he offered the boy, who politely shook his head.

“Nay, thank you, Milord,” he said, voice sweet and slightly deep. He was already blushing, and not even his tan skin could hide the flush that coloured his cheeks. He had a very pretty face. Symmetrical. Everything about him was in fact incredibly delicious. The dark brown hair that fell over his eyes. The full, plump lips. The shy brown eyes. The svelte waist and limber body. Evzen did not know how the boy had ended up working in the palace gardens, but he surely could make a handsome penny if he ever ended up at a local drum.

And Evzen could certainly vouch for that. After all, he had had the opportunity to savour all of the servant boy from top to bottom on several occasions now.

After a taking a sip of his drink, Evzen crossed the room and stopped before the boy. He was still so young, and so full of life. Evzen envied him a little in that moment.

Cupping his face very delicately, he gazed into the boy’s eyes and smiled. “Would you like to spend the afternoon with me?” he asked. “I’m feeling a little lonely.”

The boy’s answer was always the same since the first time. He nodded and blushed. “Y-Yes, Milord.”

With a smile on his lips, Evzen slowly brushed them against the boy’s, tilting his head up with a hand wrapped around the boy’s angular jaw.

* * *

The sun was already setting in the west, making way for nightfall. Without waking the servant boy up, Evzen tried to rise from the bed. The boy, fast asleep, stirred with his head still resting on Evzen’s chest. It would not be kind to wake him up and send him away while he was sleeping so comfortably. This might be the only time the boy could ever sleep on a feather mattress.

So, Evzen carefully curled an arm around the boy’s waist and slipped out from under him before drawing the eiderdown over his naked, spent body that was now marked with bruises.

“Evzenius,” the boy mumbled in his sleep all of a sudden. Halting in his tracks, Evzen glanced back at the boy with confusion at first and then with tenderness.

Even though he had bedded the boy several times now, the boy had never called Evzen by his name. No one that Evzen bedded ever did.

Sighing, he rose from the bed and pulled on a robe over his trousers before making his way to the liquor cart. He then retreated to the chair, where he quietly nursed his drink while watching the servant boy sleep.

One of the reasons why he liked taking men to bed was they expected less from it all. They were not like the chambermaids or noblewomen who daydreamed that Evzen would marry them or fall in love with them every time he bedded them. The very first boy he had ever considered taking to bed was…

Hell, it was Jongin.

The exiled Prince of Warinia, a once quaint, peaceful little kingdom in the Third Realm.

He was prettier than most women Evzen had ever slept with.

But that was not the reason. There had been something about him.

His confidence was infectious. He was shockingly sharp-tongued, and yet somehow still gracefully gentle. Of course, in the beginning, Evzen had found his self-confidence infuriating. But it was the very poise and quirkiness that eventually made Evzen lust after him. Perhaps it had been a little more than just lust. He might have even wanted friendship from the Warinian Prince. Anything more than that, Evzen was not sure he was capable of, especially with a man.

But it was the only time he had ever felt anything quite like that. What it was, he was too afraid to find out. He would not brand what he had felt for Jongin.

It had been sixteen years since. He had no idea where to find Jongin, not for the lack of trying. He had always hoped that Jongin would return to Auvradevas one day, even to say hello to an old friend.

It must have been very difficult for Jongin to hear what had happened to Adrian. And a part of Evzen would always resent Adrian for turning his back on someone that loved him. To hell with destiny. Even though Evzen was in no way a strict believer of love and promises made for life, but if he ever made them, he would do whatever it took to keep them. No compromises.

Certainly, in the face of godship and all that mighty immortal shit, those things might seem insignificant. But he was sure that they meant a great deal to someone like Jongin, who had lost a lot. His home, his people, his family. Adrian must have been the only solace he had over here. Well, Evzen hoped that he had given the princeling some comfort, too.

It had been a very long time, and Evzen should have forgotten all about Jongin. He really should have.

His gaze flitted to the rousing servant boy on the bed. He took a sip and smiled softly when the boy cracked an eye open and brushed a lock of hair out of his face.

“Milord,” he rasped drowsily and sat up to gather his clothes.

“You can sleep here if you want,” Evzen offered as he always did. Most nights, the boy graciously accepted the offer, but today, he seemed eager to return to his chores.

“Thank you, Milord,” he said. “But I still have some work to do.”

Evzen smirked and supped his drink. “Ah. I am sorry I kept you from your work.”

“Oh, nay, Your Grace,” the boy whimpered and stood up after pulling on his tunic. “I’m happy… I mean, I… I don’t mind… I… uh, I want to…” he trailed off, flushing red and running his hands through his mussed hair.

Exhaling heavily, Evzen placed the tumbler on the nearby table and patted his lap, beckoning to the boy. “Come here.”

Coyly rubbing an elbow, the boy wended his way over to Evzen and hesitated for a moment before he perched down on the armrest.

“Here,” said Evzen. It was an order now.

Sliding off the armrest, the servant boy settled on his lap. He shuddered but nestled closer when one of Evzen’s arms curled around his waist.

“What is your name?” inquired Evzen.

The boy did not seem to have taken offence, even though they had been acquainted for quite some time now. “It’s Sylv, Milord.”

“Sylv,” echoed Evzen, and he felt the boy shudder in his arms. “Such a lovely name.”

The boy kept his head low, his finger tracing the embroidery on the lapels of Evzen’s robe. “Th-Thank you, Milord.”

Cupping a side of his face, Evzen then met the boy’s eyes. “Tell me, Sylv. What is it that you desire the most in this world?”

The question threw Sylv off a little. He stared into Evzen’s eyes in bafflement for a length before he eventually licked his lips and shyly said, “I wish to see the world, Milord.”

Evzen smiled and gently stroked the boy’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “That sounds wonderful,” he said.

Sylv nodded his head lightly. “But it is only a far-fetched dream.” He splayed a hand across the haired sternum of Evzen’s chest.

“Well, I believe that dreams should come true,” said Evzen, drawing a hand along the boy’s supple thigh. “Especially one like yours.”

“It is stupid,” muttered Sylv.

“Nay,” sighed Evzen. “Where would you like to go? Someplace specific you’d like to start with?”

A small smile graced the boy’s rosy lips, which Evzen had spent hours savouring. “My mother, before she died, always talked about her trip with my father to the Third Realm. She used to say that everything was so beautiful there. I suppose I’d like to travel there one day.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

“I can’t, Milord,” he said. “My place is here. I don’t have the privilege to leave Auvradevas. Or even this palace.”

Evzen chuckled. “You are not tied to any place. Not you. How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“You still have so much to see. So much to experience. If this is your greatest desire, then you should do it.”

He took hold of the boy’s chin and brought his face closer to his own. “Milord,” Sylv let out, his lips brushing Evzen’s.

“Whatever you need to make this dream of yours come true,” whispered Evzen, relishing the way the boy shivered every time his cheek grazed against Evzen’s beard. “I’ll help you.”

Sylv jerked back, eyes widening with surprise. “Milord,” he gasped.

“Do not give up on your dreams and desires,” said Evzen, tightening his arms around the boy’s waist.

“You… don’t have to…”

“I want to.”

After a moment of silence and thinking, Sylv rose from Evzen’s lap and bowed his head. “You needn’t… compensate for…”

Evzen smiled, carding his fingers through his shortly cropped hair. “I can assure you that I do not hand out such favours to anybody. If I were to be so generous to _everyone_ I take to bed, I would be as penniless as a mongrel.”

He rose from the chair and closed the distance between him and Sylv. Taking hold of the boy’s crimsoned face, Evzen gave him a deep kiss. He then pulled back, swiping his thumb along Sylv’s slightly reddened lower lip.

“If you wish to sail to the Third Realm, all will be arranged forthwith,” he said.

“You… You are sending me away, Milord?” asked Sylv, looking more upset than joyed. “Have I not… pleased you as you wish, Milord?”

“You have done wonderfully, sweetheart,” replied Evzen, kissing the boy’s lips one last time before withdrawing completely. “Which is why I’d like to do something nice for you.”

“Oh,” the boy let out and looked away. “As you wish, Milord.”

He bowed his head, collected his trousers and took his leave. Huffing heavily, Evzen then emptied the contents of his tumbler before refilling it once more. He knew when his lovers were beginning to get a little chummier than they should. It was not their fault, he did not try to blame them. After all, he was a great lover. But he would not string any of those who were starting to get their feelings involved along. He would never give anyone false hope, especially someone as innocent and good as that servant boy.

The instant Evzen had heard the boy mumble his name in his sleep, he knew that the boy was a little more than infatuated with him. Even though he knew that Sylv would have been happy to be the king’s bedwarmer, he deserved better. And Evzen, now in his fifties, had very little hope for love and marriage. He would not be like his father – take a queen he did not love, have multiple wives and raise too many children, who’d turn out as inevitable disappointments.

That was not to say that he was fulfilled now as he was. But it was simpler.

* * *

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Jongin asked his husband, who had not uttered a single word since they were shoved into the back of a wagon by the city guards, who had also clamped shackles around Adrian’s wrists – not that they would help.

But Adrian remained composed, although he was refusing to look in Nacius’ way. And every time he did, he stared daggers at him.

“Evzenius has to know what’s coming,” he told Jongin in a low, gruff voice.

“How do you think he and everyone would react to… your coming back?” asked Jongin.

Adrian sucked in a heavy breath. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

It clearly did, though.

Jongin looked over to his son, who was sulking on the other side of the wagon, glaring out through the bars of the window. Sighing, Jongin then slipped a hand between Adrian’s and frowned when the Godblood winced as Jongin’s fingers brushed against the bleeding blisters on his palm.

“Please,” he said in a whisper. “Don’t be too hard on him. He was only trying to help.”

Adrian’s lips tightened. “He was being rash.”

“Well, I was plenty rash when I was his age, too. Even when I was older.”

“And where has that brought you?”

Jongin retrieved his hand, his frown deepening. “It brought me here, Adrian. With you. With Nacius and…” he trailed off.

“And this is better than living peacefully on your own land, in your own home? If that were true, you would not be so resentful, even years later.”

Jongin scowled now. “My land lost its peace the instant you and your army marched on it,” he said, trying to keep his voice as low as he could, to stay out of Nacius’ earshot. “Auvrans tarnished my home. That fact would not have changed, regardless of how rash I was. Not all of my decisions were mistakes, Adrian.”

Adrian turned his face away, keeping his jaw set tight. “This isn’t about you, Jongin,” he spat.

“Nay. Apparently nothing is, nowadays.”

Although Adrian fixed him with a sidelong glower, he said nothing more to aggravate their row as Jongin slid away from him in the wagon.

Sixteen years of blissful peace were quickly fading, and Jongin felt the panic rising in his chest.

The life that he had chiselled so carefully with Adrian was now crumbling, and he felt very helpless. Every little spat was already setting the Godblood off, and it was only going to get worse from here.

And then there was Nacius. With each day, he was learning more. More about the world, more about himself. One day, he would truly learn just how much he was capable of, and Gods, Jongin prayed that he would choose the right path.

The wagon came to an abrupt halt, and Jongin jerked forward before Adrian’s shackled hands caught his arm to steady him.

When the wagon doors opened after a while, the now heavily armed guards ushered them out, one by one.

“N-No funny tricks,” one of the guards told Adrian as he climbed out of the wagon with a mean sneer on his face. “Now, march.”

But no one moved. Nacius stood rooted to the ground, squinting high up at the sky. Nay, the towers of the palace.

“Bloody fu–” Nacius began to say in a raspy breath but stopped when he caught Jongin glaring at him. Where did he even learn to cuss like that, Jongin wondered.

But his mind did not linger on that thought for long, as his own gaze turned to the palace that stood before him, as regal and terrifying as he remembered. His heart began to pound a little too fast as beads of sweat ran down the sides of his face. His breathing quickened as he glanced around the bailey, recognizing the towers, the courtyards, the corridors all too well. Even though he recalled his days here clearly, they still seemed like a surreal dream, or perhaps nightmare.

He recollected the day he was brought to the palace. It was when he first met Adrian, and Gods, had that been quite the spectacle. There was no such grandeur this time, but it made Jongin sick to the stomach all the same.

There was once a time when he believed that he would never be able to leave the walls of the palace again. But he had managed to, and he would always be grateful to Helathor for helping him with that.

He never dreamed that he would come back here, _willingly_ , but here he was.

He glanced to Adrian, who was staring ahead at the palace as well. His eyes dropped to the iron shackles around his husband’s wrists, and he could not help but smirk.

Adrian caught that cheeky and slightly tired simper, unfortunately. His eyebrows rose in question first before they dipped low again. He was clearly not happy about Jongin’s amusement of the irony.

Now, Adrian understood how Jongin must have felt when _he_ first came here in shackles, surrounded by guards.

“I said, march,” said the guard once more, trying to shove Adrian forward by nudging the hilt of his spear into Adrian’s back.

They were halted once more by a couple of palace guards.

“Who are they?” one of them asked.

The city guard then said, “There was an… incident in the city. We’ve seized this man and his companions and brought them to the King’s Guard.”

The palace guards turned their scrutinizing gaze to Adrian. “What has he done?”

The city guard hesitated to answer, adjusting his helmet. “It is a little hard to explain,” he said.

“He brought a whole tower down!” another city guard exclaimed. “There was a chaos because of him.”

“Nay, he did not,” argued Nacius before Jongin could stop him. “That’s not what happened!”

“Keep your fucking mouth shut if you don’t want to end up in shackles too, kid,” the guard hissed, prodding the spearhead into Nacius’ chest.

The palace guard crossed his arms over his chest. “He brought a whole tower down?” he scoffed. “Do you expect us to believe that? Do not waste the King’s Guard’s time.”

“He did it! Everyone saw it!” another city guard hollered. “Even the people in the city. Ask anyone. There are witnesses. This one is… a freak.”

Jongin glanced at Adrian once more, wondering how the Godblood would react to the invective he himself had to endure for ages. For being an _Alsiramene_ , for being an _Aevayl_.

“What is going on here?” a gruff voice interrupted.

Jongin recognized the King’s Guard’s uniform almost instantly. He had seen Zayrse don it on multiple occasions. The new King’s Guard looked younger than Zayrse was when he was one. He might be only a couple of years older than Jongin himself was. Broad-shouldered, tall, bearded, dark-haired. He was an archetypal Auvran. He had one of his hands wrapped loosely around the grip of his sword as he approached them.

“Sire,” the palace guards greeted the man. “The city guards have apprehended some… outlanders for causing an uproar in the city.”

“That’s a lie!” barked Nacius once more, lurching forward. “We caused no uproar.”

“I said, shut up!” The city guard wasted no time in slamming the shaft of his spear against a side of Nacius’ head, sending the boy staggering.

Gasping, Jongin lunged at his son, grabbing his arm to steady him. Everything that happened next happened in the blink of an eye.

With a nearly effortless tug, Adrian severed the iron chain of the shackles and one of his now free hands immediately flung up to grab the guard’s neck.

All spearheads turned in Adrian’s way now.

“Enough!” the King’s Guard bayed, his sword unsheathed and held aloft towards Adrian’s back.

Huffing like a maddened bull, Adrian very reluctantly released the guard’s neck and held his hands up, the iron shackles, though no longer bound, still clamped around his wrists.

“I am not here to hurt anyone,” he said, turning around to face the King’s Guard. He paused to stare into the other man’s narrowing eyes. With his eyebrows furrowed, the King’s Guard slowly lowered his sword. He looked to the broken chain of Adrian’s shackles, and his expression hardened.

“How did you…”

“Please,” said Adrian. “I must see your king. I request an audience with him.”

“You will refer to _him_ as His Majesty,” spat the King’s Guard, and Adrian’s jaw tightened.

“I wish to see… _His Majesty_ ,” he said almost begrudgingly.

“Who are you?” asked the King’s Guard.

Adrian swallowed. “Please, bring me to him.”

“You look familiar.”

Adrian did not reply to that.

After a moment of consideration, the King’s Guard turned to the city guards.

“I’ll inform the king,” he told the city guards. “of the mess in the city. Help will be there soon. Now, get back.”

He then beckoned to the other palace guards after dismissing the city guards to return to their posts.

“Find a stronger pair of shackles for this one,” he ordered one of them. “Take him to the interrogation hall.”

“Wait–” rasped Adrian.

“And lock these two up in the dungeon cells,” ordered the King’s Guard.

“What?” said Nacius.

“You can’t–” Adrian began to say, but Jongin wrapped a hand around his husband’s shirt by the abdomen.

“It’s all right,” he muttered to Adrian. “Let’s not cause any more trouble. Nacius and I can wait until you’ve met King Evzenius.”

“You don’t know who he is!” shouted Nacius. “He is your Crown Prince!”

“ _Nacius_ ,” groaned Adrian, almost tiredly.

The King’s Guard snorted. “Yes. And I’m sure you’re his Court Jester.”

Nacius snarled at him.

“Take them away,” the man spat.

Jongin half-heartedly released Adrian’s shirt and stepped away when the guard grabbed his arm. He lowered his head and pulled Nacius close as he obediently followed the guard toward the dungeon.

“I want some answers,” Jongin heard the King’s Guard say to Adrian behind him. “And I want them fast. So, if you give me a hard time, outlander, I’m going to break your nose.”

“I’m not an _outlander_ ,” said Adrian through his clenched teeth. “I am an Auvran.”

“This way,” the guard ordered Jongin and Nacius, ushering them into a corridor.

“This is ridiculous,” grumbled Nacius. “It’s definitely not the grand welcome I was hoping for, is it?”

“Shut it back there,” growled the guard.

“Be patient,” Jongin whispered to his son, staying close to his side. He did not want to part with Nacius, too.

Nothing much had changed about the palace. It had been standing here for centuries and it would continue to stand tall and proud for more to come.

Jongin felt like he was strutting in a dream filled with horror and fear and panic once more, not knowing what danger or insult awaited him around the corner.

He stopped in his tracks all of a sudden, gazing towards a tower.

“Pa?” called Nacius. “What’s wrong?”

Jongin remained quiet for a moment, reliving a horrid memory. “Nothing,” he muttered.

Something else caught his attention then. A familiar voice in the distant, echoing through the corridor. He would not be able to describe or explain the overwhelming feeling of safety and comfort that shot through his body then. It was as though someone had doused him with a bucket of cold water in this blistering heat.

“That is not what I meant, Sister,” he heard the voice say with the lightest of chuckles. “You must get your nose out of your heaps of many books and look for other adventures.”

“Says the man who squandered his youth seducing women, regardless of their statuses, whether they were unwed, married women, widows, spinsters or even kitchen ladies,” replied a female voice.

“That was a very small part of my escapades.”

“It is all that I’ve ever heard of you.”

“Then I am very proud of my legacy.”

“A king should not have such legacies.”

“Perhaps I’m not meant to be king. What about you, Sister? You’d make a fine ruler. The Queen of Auvradevas has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Quit your jokes, Brother. The King and Queen of Lognar are more than willing to marry their daughter off to you. You should accept.”

“She is too young.”

“She’s turned eighteen.”

“Ergo, too young for a middle-aged man.”

“You do not seem like much of a stickler for age when you’re picking your bedwarmers.”

“That’s true. But someone who’s to be my queen should not be a wide-eyed eighteen-year-old virgin, who’s still wet behind her ears. Look harder, Sister, if you wish for me to be married.”

“You are too old, and your reputation precedes you. You can’t afford to be too picky, Brother.”

“Then stop looking.”

“You are impossible to convince.”

“Now, you’re starting to get me.”

When they finally came into view, Jongin stopped breathing, and his feet would not move.

“Papa?” Nacius called worriedly, as Jongin continued to gawk ahead with his jaw slack and mouth open.

Then without even realizing it, he was taking a couple of steps forward. He was forced to a stop by the guard.

“Stay put,” he warned Jongin. “until His Majesty has passed.”

Jongin barely heard what he said. His eyes and ears were fixed on Evzen.

“That’s… the king?” Nacius asked from the back in an awed whisper. “He’s… very… He’s not at all… what I expected.”

“What is it that you expected, kid?” asked the guard, scowling.

Nacius scowled back and said nothing more as he turned his attention back to the king, who was walking in their direction, although he had not noticed their presence yet.

Jongin’s heart was thundering in his chest, too fast and too loud, and he could feel the muscles in his face tightening as his lips slowly stretched into a smile. He had not expected to be this dumbstruck.

The woman who was accompanying Evzen noticed them first, but she quickly dismissed them, returning her gaze to the king. She called him ‘Brother’ and Evzen called her ‘Sister’. She had to be one of Adrian’s half-siblings. Jongin was not sure if he had met her before, but if he had, she must have been only a child then.

Evzen had changed a great deal, much to Jongin’s surprise. He sported a thicker beard, but he no longer wore his hair long. It was cropped as short as Adrian’s on the sides, long on the top, and styled very neatly. There was a good amount of noticeable grey hairs, which only made him look even more handsome. Just like his older brother. Except that Evzen’s face held features beyond comparable and unrivalled – not that Jongin would ever mention that to Adrian. His eyes were as blue as Jongin remembered, and his body was even burlier and more thickly muscled than it was in Jongin’s memories. Auvrans were not praised for their comely appearances, but Gods, was Evzen a welcome exception…

But it wasn’t all that made him special. He still had that charming, easy smile that could brighten up a room. There was once a time when Jongin wanted nothing more than to slap that smug smirk off that cursed beautiful face of his.

“That’s my… _uncle_?” Nacius whispered behind Jongin, sounding almost bitter about it.

“Hush,” the guard hissed at them, and it finally caught Evzen’s attention.

He averted his gaze from his sister and turned to towards the palace guard. He arched an eyebrow – very attractively – before he looked to Jongin.

He stopped dead, his face falling flat like a blank slate.

For a moment, he did nothing but stare, as though he were waiting to see if Jongin would simply vanish into thin air. The shock and disbelief paled his face, the two icy blue orbs burning into Jongin.

And then he started towards Jongin. Steadily, calmly.

All of Jongin turned cold. He was not sure how to greet his friend. He should perhaps start with an apology for not having sent a single word to Evzen, who had been very kind to him in the past, to tell him that he was safe all these years. And also, for having kept the truth about his brother a secret. There were a lot of things Jongin should apologize for, but right now, he simply wanted to greet Evzen without blethering like an idiot.

As Evzen neared him, Jongin managed to muster a faint smile. He opened his mouth and took a breath to say hello.

He was cut off, however, when Evzen’s hands came up to cup the sides of his face and his lips were quickly crushed beneath Evzen’s.

For a moment, Jongin did not breathe or even turn a single hair. Evzen smiled like sandalwood and lemons. He was warm and huge. His hands were not as callused or rough as Adrian’s, but they were just as big and inescapable.

_For Seven’s sake, the goddamn bastard never changed!_

Jongin’s hands flew up to Evzen’s muscled chest, and he shoved the man back with all the might he had. As soon as their mouths had come apart, Jongin smacked Evzen right across the face with a very quick hand.

“Your Majesty!” the guard gasped, reaching for his sword.

Evzen rubbed the side of his face that was just struck with one hand while holding the other up to halt the guard. Sniggering at Jongin who was huffing furiously at him, he said, “It most certainly is you, all right.”


End file.
